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 The Message of 
 
 the Stars 
 
 An Address by 
 WILL STEEL 
 
The Message of 
 the Stars 
 
 An Address by 
 WILL STEEL 
 
 A. B. Hendrix College, L.L B. Vanderbilt University. 
 
 The Texarkana Publishing Company, 1919. 
 
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 Copyright 1919 
 
 by 
 
 Will Steel 
 
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TO MY DEAR WIFE 
 
 I dedicate this volume 
 
 wistfully dreaming that happy and with hearts aglow 
 
 we may go down life's hill together 
 
 and enter the shadow 
 
 one with the other. 
 
 —3— 
 
Publisher's Note: 
 
 Some years ago, the graduating' class of Hendrix 
 College, located a,t Conway, Arkansas, agreed that ten 
 years thereafter a reunion of all alumni of that insti- 
 tution would be called to meet on some fixed day at 
 the annual Commencement exercises. 
 
 Pursuant to that agreement, this meeting was held 
 and Mr. Will Steel, a lawyer of Texarkana, Arkansas, 
 and an alumnus of Hendrix College, was selected to de 
 liver the principal address. 
 
 He accepted the invitation and selected as his sub- 
 ject "The Message of the Stars," under which subject 
 he discussed in turn (1) the stars of Heaven, (2) the 
 stars of history, and (3) the stars of Hendrix. 
 
 This volume with some changes and some addi- 
 tions contains hi& address delivered on that occasion. 
 
The Message of the Stars 
 
 Mr. Cliairman, Ladies, and Gentlemen: — 
 
 When your program committee, through my good 
 friend N. J. Gantt, notified me that I had been select- 
 ed to address you on this occasio-n, I was reminded of 
 the experience of the young lady whose sweetheart 
 called on her one night, and during the conversation, 
 told her that he thought she was the most beautiful woi- 
 man on earth. After he had gone, she went to her room, 
 knelt down by her bed, and thanked God that love was 
 blind, and so I feel that I should accept this compli- 
 ment with a similar supplication. 
 
 I assure you, Mr. Chairman, that it isi no empty 
 sentiment when I say that I genuinely rejoice in strik- 
 ing hands wit'h friends and boon companions of the 
 happy long ago. 
 
 I can hardly realize that fourteen years have 
 passed since I became a student at Hendrix College; 
 since first I landed upon that old depot platform an 
 untutored country lad, as green as the verdant hill- 
 slopes from which I hailed. 
 
 I recall as vividly as if it were but yesterday the 
 peculiar grandeur of those first impressions. And 
 when I reached the campus, and the different profes- 
 sors were pointed out to me, I remember how I viewed 
 them in reverent wonder; how I thought that Israel's 
 king in all his glory was not arraj^ed like one of these. 
 
 I recall distinctly the impenetrable mystery, the 
 
startled astonishment with which I listened to* the first 
 
 College Yell. 
 
 "Deep into that darkness, peering, 
 Long I stood there wondering, fearing, 
 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal 
 Ever dared to dream before." 
 
 Of all the mingled and meaningless jargon of the 
 languages, to me they were making the supreme effort. 
 
 I knew thait foreigners, both Japanese and Chinese 
 attended the school but I thought it so^ strange that 
 they should become so excited in their conversations. 
 
 Today, as memor}^ sweeps her lute and recollec- 
 tion rings her silver bells, there steals before my eyes 
 a vivid rose-hued vision of the first Central Reception, 
 an occasion whose "memories still bless and burn." 
 
 Years can not distance nor cam time dim that 
 eventful hour of my social evolution. Yes, well do I 
 remember how with palpitating heart and profuse per- 
 spiration I patiently prepared for the perilous moment 
 when I would enter that field of fantastic terrors, and 
 when it came, how I was led by a badhelor professor, 
 to me as bold "as any knight of fame whose shield 
 e'er hung in Branksome Hall," into a bevy of Central 
 girls as beautiful as butterflies fresh from their flow- 
 ers. 
 
 Stately and silent I sat like Vishnu the Somber 
 as my temperature rose and the tragedy deepened, 
 
 "While I thrilled beneath the glances 
 Of a pair of azure eyes 
 As glowing as the summer, 
 And as tender as' the skies." 
 
It was thus the veneer of my country life vanished, 
 as the evening waned and my collar wilted. 
 
 I recall how I sat enchanted beneath that glit- 
 tering dome of pleasure, as some dim violet of the 
 long ago drew from trembling strings the divine sym- 
 phonies of Beethoven, 
 
 "Like that wild harp wTiose magic tone 
 Is wakened by the winds alone," 
 
 until it seemed the fragrant air blossiomed with melody. 
 
 At this distant date, I trust I betray no confidences, 
 when I say that on the brink of that treacherous Rubi- 
 con many a Maud Muller, at home, unconscious of cause 
 or crises, has lost her erstwhile lover. 
 
 Yet with my country comrades of the long ago, 
 who came in their unspent splendor of youth, to seek 
 the light and climb the marbled steeps of toil, sacred 
 indeed are those jewelled hours, though purpled now 
 with the wine of shadow, and mellowed with the mists 
 of memory, "as time with ruthless fingers tells the 
 rosary of the years. ' ' 
 
 We rejoice today that time in its tireless flight has 
 guided our pilgrim footsteps back to the loving arms 
 of our alma mater and to the cherished confines of 
 this old campus 
 
 That once more we are permitted to stand within 
 the shadow of this stately building, and gather within 
 these classic 'halls, "still sweet with the perfume of 
 withered flowers and hallowed by a lingering love." 
 
 As we sit today like pensive Ruth and glean the 
 
 —7— 
 
grain of the golden past, as we unbar its gates of roses 
 and wander 'mid its mignonettes of memory, we realize- 
 that in those days friendships were formed, the truest 
 that ever followed one out into life's rugged highway. 
 
 Sacred all are those treasured friendships, that 
 have deepened with the tread of time, friendships that 
 bless and brood above us in the ecstacies of this hour, 
 friendships that teach the wondrous tnith that "kind 
 hearts are more than coronets and simple faith than 
 Norman blood." 
 
 As exiles awakened by the minstrels of memory, 
 across life's fretful waves of care, we homeward turn 
 our crafts today, that they with phantom keels and 
 tinted sails may ride at anchor in the haven of this 
 hospitable harbor. 
 
 'Neath the pillared beauty of these stately elms 
 and sheltering oaks, that bend above us like Diana's 
 bow, we walk for a day the well known pathways 
 as of yore. 
 
 Moss fringed and aged by the relentless years, they 
 
 are to me the hallowed highways of the soul, for, 
 
 "Those golden paths are running down the 
 
 years, 
 
 Ijet ns turn us from our sorrow and our tears 
 
 And where love is softly calling, 
 
 Ere the dusk of night be falling. 
 
 Let us hide us in their glory 
 
 From our fears. 
 
 "Those golden paths are running through the 
 
 dew. 
 And the hea^Tus laugh above them clear and 
 
 blue. 
 Where the sunlit hills are gleaming 
 Let us v/ander in sweet dreaming. 
 Let us seek the morning glories 
 All day through." 
 
It is indeed a priceless boon to walk again the 
 lilac lined and scented aisles of the long ago, impris- 
 oned in the crested glory of green hedged walls, while 
 from each sheltered nook and dusky bower spring smil- 
 ing faces of old friends like mystic genii from the vase. 
 
 At the rim of this inviting rendezvous, we linger 
 today like Perii at the gates of paradise, with hearts 
 that are filled and thrilled by a harvest moon with 
 fleeting fancies and raging reveries, while before onr 
 eyes flit thick and fast in serried lines unbroken, like 
 winged troopers, the yesteryears, — a noiseless Niagara 
 of precious memories. 
 
 In selecting as my subject today "The Message of 
 the Stars." I may not perhaps mention the message 
 which the stars oft times bring to you, for I realizei the 
 fact that human thoughts and human, tastes have ever 
 been known to swing pendulum-like from extreme to 
 extreme. 
 
 I realize that to him "who in the love of nature 
 holds; communion with her visible forms, she speaks a 
 varied language." 
 
 To Longfellow the poet of sunshine and pathos, 
 the stars brought a message of infinite beauty and 
 perennial sjiringtime when he said: "Silently, one by 
 one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, bloissomed the 
 lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angelsi." 
 
 To the weird minded Poe, they brought a message 
 and a memory of his beautiful wife when he said: 
 
"The moon never beams 
 Without bringing- me dreams 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 
 And the stars never rise 
 But I feel the bright eyes 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee." 
 
 To Coleridge they semed as white plumed knights 
 or silent sentinels guarding the golden frontiers of 
 stellar space, when he said: "The stars hang bright 
 above, silent, as if they watched the sleeping earth." 
 
 But the pens of histor\^'s poets heve never express- 
 ed a message more memoj-able than that which was 
 carried to the wise men of the East in the days of 
 Herod tlie king, when the star that hung over Beth- 
 lehem told of a world redeemed, told of the birth of 
 a king. 
 
 Carlysle in speaking of the stars, said that "no 
 obstruction lies l)etween them and infinity," and while 
 the human mind continually seeks tO' know their myriad 
 secrets, yet tliey liave their mysteries which only the 
 infinite can fathom. 
 
 But it is the privilege of every man, as often as 
 the stars peep out in glor}% to allow the unfettered imr 
 agination to steal out like the mystic Arab into that 
 wilderness of wandei'ing worlds, and walk t'liat broad 
 and ample road whose dust is gold and pavement stars. 
 
 I have selected as my subject today an object of 
 nature as a medium through which to bear you a mes- 
 sage, because I recognize that nature is an object whose 
 friends are numberless and for which admiration is 
 universal. 
 
 —10— 
 
And so I trusit that today I address those included 
 
 among the hosts mentioned in Hiawatha when the poet 
 
 said: 
 
 "Ye who love the haunts of nature, 
 Love the sunshine of the meadow, 
 Love the shadow of the forest, 
 Love the wind among the branches." 
 
 There is a peculiar yet unspeakable fascination in 
 the shifting scenes of the deepening twilight; there is 
 a wild yet incomparable bewitchery when the sable 
 goddess night silently gathers her robes aibout her and 
 asumes dominion over the shadow haunted earth. 
 
 There is no scenery which can compare in immac- 
 ulate beauty with standing as the day dies out of the 
 shy, and watching the streamlets of sunshine until 
 they are lost in the ocean of night, and the myriad 
 stars peep out in reluctant modesty yet kingly majesty 
 over heaven's celestial concave. 
 
 I love to stand upon the frontiers of this continent 
 of beauty, when Mercury the Nimrod of the evening's 
 chase for glory hangs his crimson pennant over the 
 purple hills as undisputed sovereign of the conquering 
 twilight. 
 
 I love to see bright Venus follow in his shining 
 footsteps, "as out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael 
 wandered with Ha gar." 
 
 I love to watcli the Pleiades, the old guard of the 
 passing night rise like an army of Titans until they 
 scale and carry the gleaming heights of heaven. 
 —11— 
 
And at twilight's dusk and dewy bloom, I love to 
 wateli tlie wan-eyed Vega, fair sorceress of the night, 
 rise out of "the heautifnl isles of somewhere," in her 
 crimson car of kindling flame and hail the smiling gods 
 upon the hills. I love to watc'li her ride and race her 
 golden hours on rainbow arcs of rosy maze, until she 
 sinks in dreamless slumber in a silver summer dawn. 
 
 I love to watch old Mars "that ruddy planet float- 
 ing in opal seas where silence sleeps," and sihining with 
 the same imperial grandeur and lonely luster as when 
 the Chaldean shepherds watched their flocks by night 
 and called the constellations by their names; and I of- 
 ten wonder if the people of that plaiuet like we are 
 made in the image of God, and if "its ruddy glow is not 
 perhap:^ the blush of flowers from an Eden untouched 
 by sin," and where the forbidden fruit still hangs in its 
 pristine purity. 
 
 Oh what a universe of pinioned thought is mirror- 
 ed in the majesty of the myriad stars the "brig'lit em- 
 blazonry of God." as they glide from sunless ciypts un- 
 healed, and brood and burn like golden gondolas in 
 heaven's bright lagoon, in her sapphire arc of night, in 
 her azure urn of glory. 
 
 And so we can gather a thousand messages as the 
 stars with their circling systems walk like wizards the 
 halls of limitless space in the heyday of night's Olymp- 
 ian grandeur until the faint l)ells of the milky way 
 tinkle curfew and the gloiy of their riches is absorbed 
 by the Shjdock of the morning. 
 —12— 
 
But there are other skies than those which bend 
 above us: there are other stars than t'hose which deck 
 those skies. 
 
 There is an intellectual universe studded with in- 
 tellectual stars the luster of whose lights is seen all 
 down the i)atliway of the marching centuries. 
 
 As an outline of what I shall discuss today, I want 
 to contrast and compare the characters and worksf of 
 two intellectual stars, each from the universe of poetry, 
 of oratory, of statesmans'hip, and of military genius. 
 
 In surveying the realm of poetry, it seems to me 
 that it is ai field where genius has always lingered, that 
 it?i constellations of stars are written in every nation's 
 history either inciting its achievements or telling the 
 story of its conquests. 
 
 Throughout the history of the world, poetry has 
 been an archangel of prowess and power. It is a uni 
 verse the magic of whose stars has made all men astron- 
 omers. 
 
 It melts alike t'he heart of the prince in his palace, 
 and furnishes laughter and song to the humble peasant 
 in his cottage. 
 
 It has made a thousand Romeos sfince Shakes- 
 peare wrote, and builded a thousand Edens since the 
 blind bard Milton sung; ages of bo^asted chivalry have 
 com.e and gone since Tennyson told of Arthur and his 
 gallant knights of the Round Table; and daily we 
 read and see a thousand hells' on earth as real as that 
 of which old Dante dreamed. 
 
 —13— 
 
And I regret the fact today that in the time which 
 I shall speak to yon, I can not more thoroughly survey 
 this field of intellectual thought. 
 
 I would like to stand with Scott on the banks of 
 Lake Katrine and view with Snowdown's Knight Fitz- 
 James tlie beauty of the Ijady of the Lake. I would 
 like to walk through the embattled portals of Newark's 
 stately tower and listen to the entrancing melodies of 
 the ''Lay of the last Minsftrel." I would like to wander 
 with Longfellow ])ack to Acadian meadows "where the 
 forest still stands primeval," and there under the mur- 
 muring pines and hemlocks, listen to Evangeline's 
 story. 
 
 I would like to stand with Tennyson upon the 
 strands of England's sea-shore and watch young Phillip 
 Ray and Enoch Arden in the dawn of rosy childhood 
 build their castles of dissolving sands aiud tell their love 
 to Annie Lee. 
 
 I would like to sit with Groldsmith under the haw- 
 thorn shades of the Deserted Village, 
 
 ''AVhere smiling spring its earliest visit paid. 
 And parting summer's lingering blooms de- 
 layed."^ 
 
 I would like to turn the telescope of a devotional 
 admiration upon the works of Browning and Buras and 
 Byron and S'helley and other illustrious poets whose 
 names will always live in song and story and never be 
 forgotten. But I shall only discuss the two most bril- 
 liant stars of poetic genius, Homer the father of epic 
 song, and Shakespeare the Titan of modem poetiy. 
 
 —14— 
 
Very little is known of the lives of tliese two poets, 
 Imt their works have made their names immortal. 
 Homer lives through his Illiad and his Odyssey, 
 Shakespeare through his poems and plays which are fa- 
 miliarly known and too numerous to mention. 
 
 Homer's characters were unreal, magnified, and 
 imaginative, while the characters of Shakespeare were 
 the embodiment of nature itself. 
 
 Colonel Mure says of Homer that "in the deeper 
 vein of tragic paithos, Homer may be equalled if not 
 surpassed by Shakespeare, in moral dignity of thought 
 and expression by Milton, and in the gloomy grandeur 
 of his! sujjernatural imagery by Dante, but no one of 
 these poets has combined in a similar degree those 
 various elements of excellence in each of which they 
 may separately claim to compete with him." 
 
 AVliile Ingersol has well portrayed the genius of 
 Shakespeare when he said that "he exceeded all the 
 sons of men in the splendor of his imagination," and 
 that "his mind was a boundless ocean whose waves 
 tnnched every shore of human thought." 
 
 But it seems to me that the intellect of Homer drift- 
 ed into a channel of misguided genius when it found 
 its greatest expression in the bloody tide of battle. 
 Who could tell the effects on history 'si pages had the 
 message of his song been that "Peace hath her victories 
 no less renowned than war?" Who can count the bat- 
 tles fought or the needless blood that was shed be- 
 cause he praised the chivalry and knight-errantry of 
 
 —15— 
 
Trojan valor or sung of Hector and Acliilles' far on the 
 ringing plains of windy Troy? 
 
 And while today I must confess to some extent 
 I am a ]]ero worshiper, when the issues of the strug- 
 gle are founded upon a basis of right, yet I can see no 
 special virtue in the prowess of might alone. 
 
 There was a time in the history of the world, back 
 in the Don (,)uixote days, "when knighthood was in 
 flower" when the strong ami of a/ nation's army was 
 the measure of a nation's greatness. There was a time 
 v/hen neither right nor principle were elements in the 
 causes of war nor diplomacy a feature of its con- 
 summation. We turn the pages of history and see the 
 invincible Alexander leading the daiuntless troops of 
 Macedonia against the host& of Darius. We see the in- 
 domitable Cyrus subverting the mighty monarch of 
 Bab^don and building a colossal empire from the Indus 
 to the Nile. We watch imperial Caesar ais 'he leads his 
 veteran legions into Gaul or plants them at the feet 
 of the Pharoahs. And then in turn we see the towering 
 temples and stately statuary of imperial Rome ruth- 
 lessly crushed by barbarian Vandal and Goth. And 
 we ask what means all this? 
 
 ^\niat were the basic rights for which those wars 
 were waged; Whence comes the guiding voice at last to 
 speak those rights? But from the silent cycles of the 
 sleeping centuries there comes no answer. But I am 
 glad today we live in a, different age; an age when en- 
 lightened opinion and civilized nations demand a just 
 
 —16— 
 
cause before resorting to war; an age which finds more 
 glory in a victory of Portsmouth than in a victorj^ 
 of Port Arthur; an age which places intellect and 
 diplomacy on a plane above mere power. 
 
 It is apparently an unseen, tragic circumstance 
 that prior to the age great Homer loosed his soul in 
 e])ic song, the purple testament of time had assigned 
 but little reason for the unhooded horrors of war. Far 
 better had he conceived and told the wreck and ruin of 
 this colos'sal murderer, this Titan from the darkness of 
 the past. Better had he portrayed the hideous form 
 of this grim specter, conceived in paission and bom 
 in the morning of antiquity. For war can boast a 
 lineage Vliich dates from the age of caves and stones, 
 a conception on fields of carnage, a comradeship with 
 camps of death. It holds a history whose every page 
 is written in the ghastly gore of countless crimes and 
 in the red blood of murdered innocence. 
 
 In the lurid glare of its raging fires, the mael- 
 strom of its inelting pot, are lost the regard for virtue 
 and the respect for innocence and old age. 
 
 And whether fought for pelf or power, for greed 
 or invisible purpose, it is and will ever remain a relic 
 of barbarism, a murderer of man, and a reproach of 
 r>od. 
 
 The nameless verities in nature's/ laws, the eternal 
 messages of the stars present a marked antithesis, a 
 signal contrast to man's resort to relentless war. 
 
 —17— 
 
Since the bloom and glow of ancient Eden's ut- 
 most honr, life unfettered and full spent has' been great 
 nature's theme, the divine plan. 
 
 Like budding hopes, like a beautiful adventure, 
 life springs to the call of the waking dawn. It finds 
 its fullest measure " in the blatant splendor of torrid 
 noon." And wlien night comes down like the pity of 
 Clod, it sinks to death or dreamless slumber in the 
 arms of twilight, to the lullaliy of love. 
 
 Forever coursing like kindred spirits, "in a firma- 
 ment fretted with gold and fire," the stars through 
 endless cycles repeat the story of the day. 
 
 And so I breathe one anxious hope, one ardent, 
 
 earnest prayer: 
 
 "Oh, give me my utmost hour and let me die! 
 Even as the golden bees in the azure sky, 
 Even as the rainbow melting in one long sigh. 
 Even as the passionate star that dims with dawn, 
 Even as the rose that swoons on tlie languid 
 breeze, 
 
 Even as the sunbeam, paling wan, 
 
 God, let me be as these! 
 Sherman expressed the blunt but accepted atti- 
 tude of civilized states, the univers^al view of the na- 
 tions, when he said that "war is hell." Its ruthless 
 sway reflects a condition so repulsive that I trust our 
 future armies will marshal under a banner of peace. 
 
 T know nothing Ijadies and Gentlemen, of the real- 
 ities of war more than T can gat'her from the pages of 
 history, but I had the privilege not long ago^ of visit- 
 ing a reunion of the proud remnant of the Old Guard 
 
 —18— 
 
of the South, and as I thought of the history written 
 in their withered fonns and wrinlded faces, of their 
 comrades who slept ''in the tongaieless silence of the 
 dreamless dust," as I looked upon those lillied cheeks 
 where once the proud rose of manhood bloomed, and 
 watched those white headed memories 'of a civiliza- 
 tion that died long, long ago, I said God grant that 
 I may live to see a time in the history of the world, 
 
 When the war drum throbs no longer, 
 And the battle flags are furled, 
 In the parliament of ma,n, 
 The federation of tTie world." 
 
 I believe we have reached an age in the history of 
 the world when the siren songed poets of the future 
 will weave their garlands of glory in singing the an- 
 thems of peace. Whether the inspiration comes from 
 Ararat which received the dove with its olive branch, 
 from Sinai, or from Calvary's cross, I believe the im- 
 mortelles of our future poets will be found in the min- 
 strelsy of peace. 
 
 I believe earth's future battles will be fought up- 
 on the forum and not upon the blood stained field of 
 battle. Tliat the muffled drum-beait and the bugle'si 
 clarion call in a few more years will summons the 
 knighted warriors of t1ie future from the tented field 
 forever to gather in senate halls and diplomacy will be 
 crowned imperial monarch. 
 
 In the interesting city of ancient Rome, "thie 
 mother of dead empires, the Niobe of the nations," be- 
 
 —19— 
 
Death the towering dome of a great cathedral, there 
 hangs in fadeless beauty an immortal painting from 
 the hand of the divine Raphael. 
 
 It shows the war-like Mars with drawn and up- 
 lifted sword ready to strike the fatal blow, which isi ar- 
 rested from behind t'h rough the gentle touch of an 
 angel's hand. 
 
 Would that our diplomats and our statesmen could 
 catch the inspiration of that scene and keep our land 
 of liberty and legend forever a land of freedom a.nd 
 friendship. ' I 
 
 If you ask me today for my theory for the aboli- 
 tion of war, I answer that we must take our cue from 
 nature's court, from the bright lexicon of sea and sky. 
 We must emulate the individual rights in nature's 
 realm, the democracy of her universe, "walled by the 
 wide air and lit by the eternal stars." 
 
 We must teach the nations the virtues of consti- 
 tutional government, that all men are created equal, 
 and that the ideal form for governmental rule prevails 
 where freedom calls with a monarch's voice and lib- 
 erty walks with unfettered feet. 
 
 But the works of Shakespeare, nature's poet, are 
 replete with the lessons, of life. We leara the lessons 
 of adversity from the life of Rosalind, and see the 
 charms of woman's devotion in fhe beautiful Desde- 
 mona. We feel the hand of retribution fall on Bratus 
 at the fatal field of Phillippi, and scorn the narrow 
 greed of Shylock when Jessica stole his gold. We see 
 
 —20— 
 
the moral weakness of McBeth lost in the apathy of 
 .joyless crime, and in the Tempest learn the lesson of 
 forgiveness from the pardoning Prospero. 
 
 Through the nndimmed vision of his matchless 
 genius, the priceless products of his great mind, 
 Shakespeare looms in the world of letters as a coiossail 
 intellectual prodigal, as the greatest mental prodigy of 
 all time. 
 
 Under the magic spell of his tremendous powers, 
 the miracle of his mighty pen, he saw the virgin splen- 
 dor of ancient Greece, with her wealth of column and 
 cornice, of shafted oriel and of broken arch. 
 
 He found anew an open path to imperial Rome's 
 immortal glory. And dreaming beneath the beauty of 
 Verona's l)alconies by the Adige's crescent flow, he 
 saw the slanting, white-plumed sails of Roman galleys 
 on the main, and heard the tread of Caesar's legions 
 in the field. 
 
 He heard the silver notes, the somber call of San 
 Antonio's deathless chimes, the melody of great Mem- 
 non's morning song when granite lips were wakened 
 by the dawn. 
 
 Shakespeare always was a great lover of nature, 
 and his noble heart ran roses as he ga;zed on her 
 cliffs and crags and rivers and cloudsi. The wine of 
 his soul grew purple as he walked the sylvan shades of 
 her forest aisles, and her saffron fields of sunset gold. 
 
 In the reaches of comedy and the realm of trag- 
 edy, he was a winged-god of thought, an archangel of 
 intellect. , 
 
 —21— 
 
But I think we love liim best iu his scenes of 
 sentiment and his dreams of love, when the night birds 
 sing to the beckoning- stars and moonbeams mate on 
 banks of violets; that the flame of his soul beams 
 brightesit w'hen the bashful Benedict of Padua breathes 
 his affection for the beautiful Bea,trice, when raving 
 Romeo dreams of the "white wonder of fair Juliet's 
 hand", or when lonely Dido "stands on the wild sea 
 banks and wafts her love to come again to Carthage." 
 
 In Shakespeare's active life, a host of friends 
 would gather about him to listen to his words of wit 
 and humor, and throughout the pages of his volum- 
 inousi works his humor shines like winter's sunbeams. 
 
 Charles Ijamb in speaking of the home of his hum- 
 ble birthplace says "it is penciled o'er with the names 
 of the rich and the poor, that royalty has been proud 
 to pay this simple tribute to exalted intellect and 
 genius has paused in its triumphs to inscribe those hal- 
 lowed walls with brief sentences which record its love 
 for the wonderful man." 
 
 To liucian Bonapaifte ;the following lines are 
 
 ascribed: 
 
 "The eye of genius glistens to admire. 
 How memory hails the sound of Shakespeare's 
 lyre; 
 
 Let princes o'er their subject kingdoms rule, 
 'Tis Shakespeare's province to command the 
 soul." 
 
 The significance of Shakespeare's successful life 
 lies in the fact that he excelled in every phase of dra- 
 
 —22— 
 
matic thought and every form of human feeling. For 
 he was indeed the Milton of imagery, the Dante of 
 tragedy, the Poe of pathos, and the Mo'zart of melody. 
 
 In the splendor of his far-reaching thought, the 
 luster of liis imagination, he left the common things 
 of earth to walk the "serene and shining pathway of 
 the stars." 
 
 He had the gift of prophecy which fulfils itself; 
 he was the "intellectual autocrat" of the ages. 
 
 He was at home wit'h prince or peasant, with 
 meadow blooms or mountain snow, in marble palaces 
 or rose-hedged paths which labor wrought with love. 
 He wasi a friend of wind and wave, of frost and flame, 
 a comrade of sea and shimmering star. 
 
 He was a part of the infinite. 
 
 In Shakespeare's early life, the shaft of falsehood 
 failed to pierce the shield of his good name, as alike in 
 later years fell in futile floods upon his shoulders 
 liie Scylla of flattery and the Charybdisi of cricitism. 
 
 He met the inevitable with the unerring philos- 
 ophy: "Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, 
 thou shalt not escape calumny," for well he knew that 
 in every pathway of human experience, the serpents 
 of hate must writhe and hiss. 
 
 Shakespeare's untimely and premature death was 
 an irreparable loss to the world of letters, for his life 
 marked the high tide of earth's literary glory. 
 
 We ask today in the language of the versatile 
 Washington Irving: "What fruit might not have been 
 
expected from the golden autumn of such a mind, shel- 
 tered as it was from the stormy vicissitudes) of life, and 
 flourishing in the suns'hine of popular and royal fa- 
 vor?" 
 
 But aside from the numerous lessons which we 
 might gather from his works, it is a delightful message 
 to contemplate to see this wonderful man in the vigor 
 of age, retiring from the scenes of his well earned 
 triumphs to the exclusion of his native town, and to 
 the companionship of his friends. A man who was 
 philosophic enough, when equipped with plenty for 
 life, not to build a fane to wealth and' fame, but to 
 gather the golden sheaves of friendship which ripen in 
 the sunshine of laughter and are locked in the arms of 
 love. 
 
 Ijet us pass for a moment to the field of oratory, 
 perhaps the most transcendent phase of all the myriad 
 forms which genius takes, 
 
 het us consider that mighty, mystic, magic power 
 which echoes like mellow music from the somber halls 
 of the past. That power that "floats like the fra- 
 grance of faded roses from the dust of colossal em- 
 pires and classic republics that flourished long ago." 
 That power whose chivalrous litany is written in the 
 blood of heroes spilt and in the dust of shattered 
 crowns. That poM^er which follows and fondles liberty 
 like a goddess of love and is welcomed warm at free- 
 doms' shrine like the siren song of Sappho. 
 
 I would tell today the story of two great national 
 
 —24— 
 
characters. Heroes not in war, but in peace; names not 
 bright in the flame of cannon, nor glorious m the din 
 of conflict, but in the power of pen, the sublimity of 
 speech. 
 
 It would be the story of a parallel in personal 
 charm, in gentlemanly grace, in genius of tongue and 
 in love and loyalty to the republic, but in their moral 
 natures and religious views, it woiuld be a contrast as 
 dark and deep as could be woven in the loom of life and 
 human histoiy. 
 
 I would tell today the story of two American ora- 
 tors, Ingersol of Puritan stock and Grady the Cavalier. 
 
 Robert CI. Ingersol, plumed prince of the platform, 
 was born of Northern parentage and 'Mike a tropical 
 plant ])y the monarch stream" grew into brilliant, lux- 
 uriant life. 
 
 Henry W. Grady was the gifted scion of Southern 
 ancestors, a talented and typical child of the South- 
 land, a, plant that grew to glory in the wealth of South- 
 ern sunshine and the gorgeous glow of Georgia skies. 
 
 But the life of Ingersol was "like a lawless, erratic 
 meteor, brilliant only in its self consuming fire and 
 lost at last in rayless night." 
 
 We see the brilliancy of his genius and his cold 
 and bairren philosophy beautifullj^ expressed in his 
 eulogy at his brother's grave when lie said: "Life is a 
 narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two 
 eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights, 
 \Ye cry aloud and the only answer is the echo of our 
 
 —25— 
 
wailing cry. From tlie voiceless lips of the unreplying 
 dead there comes no word; but in the night of death 
 hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rastle 
 of a wing." 
 
 No words can fathom the possibilities of his mis- 
 guided talent, America's motst brilliant orator perhaps, 
 yel tlie demigod of modern infidelity. 
 
 One great orator has said that "he could paint pic- 
 ture after picture of the pleasures and joys aad sym- 
 pathies of home; that he could enthrone love and 
 preach the gospel of 'humanity like an angel, and then 
 dip his ])rush in ink and blot out the beautiful picture 
 he had painted." 
 
 It is remarkably strange that Robert G. Ingersol 
 endowed by nature with a brilliant brain and a goldeq 
 tongue should have found his greatest pleasure in ad- 
 ^'ancing his agnostic ideas and questioning the exist- 
 ence of a God. 
 
 The mystery of death and the life hereafter was 
 that which led the troubled patriarchs of old to aisk 
 that question unanswered through all the ages: "If a 
 man die, shall he live again?" We have asked that 
 question of everything and of eveiybody. We have 
 asked it of the forest isles "where contentment sings 
 among the hills"; we have asked it of the limpid lake 
 as it dimpled under the dim stars; we have asked it of 
 the melancholy lnigli|t when moonbeams i-)e(st upon 
 meadow and stream and wood; we have asked it of the 
 night's dark tempest when fierce lightnings leaped as 
 
 —26— 
 
they touched hai-p strings of heaven in the thunder's 
 home, "Tf ai man die, shall he live again"? 
 
 Our great poet Ijord Byron has sung: "The eter- 
 nal surge of tide and time rolls on and bears afar our 
 bubbles. How little do we know that which we are, 
 how less what we may be." Doctor Johnson when 
 asked to voice his views of a future life said: 'M 
 must leave the matter in obscurity." 
 
 It is only, my friends, when we move grief strick- 
 en to the side of the pallid dead, 
 
 "In that desert shadowland of tears. 
 Girt by the dark wild wilderness of fears," 
 and stand transfixed and stunned by t'he ruthless blow, 
 do we seek surcease from sorrow in a solution of the 
 
 soul 's immortality. 
 
 It is then, that from anxious eyes and quivering 
 lips our whisf^Dered prayers ascend: 
 
 "Comes there back no voice beyond us 
 "V^^iere the trackless sunbeams call, 
 Comes there back no wraith of music 
 Melting through the cr>^stal wall, 
 Comes there back no bird to lisp us 
 Of the great forevermore. 
 With a leaf of life un withered 
 Plucked upon the farther shore"? 
 
 Pained and appalled at the open grave, its seep 
 
 Ter of grief, its empire of gloom, seeking the consoling 
 
 assurance of divinity's presence, 'tis then we feel and 
 
 know thcit "the fool hath said in his heart there is no 
 
 God." 1 ' 
 
 —27— 
 
And yet the eloquent Ingersol of times asserted that 
 the Christian religion was based on fear, and that 
 deatli was the inexo-rable mandate of fate. 
 
 In this connection he said that "courage is liberty; 
 that fear is the dungeon of the mind and superstition 
 t]ie dagger with which hypocricy assassinates the 
 soul." 
 
 But to the gloomy philosophy of Ingersol the in- 
 fidel, comes the triumphant answer in the words of the 
 holy writ, ringing down through all the ages: "If a 
 man die, yet shall he live." 
 
 I believe the dead do live again. That beyond the 
 
 echoless strands of that silent river, "where sunset 
 
 stars are sunk in night," there is a land of eternal 
 
 rest. That it is a land where limpid rivers loiter like 
 
 ]o\'er5 and "white wings never grow weary," tliat it is 
 
 a "realm where the rainbow never fades". 
 
 "A silent murmur in the soul 
 Tells of a world to be. 
 As travellers hear the billows roll. 
 Before they reach the sea. ' ' 
 
 We are given the maker's sequel to the mystic 
 sting of denth in tiie sacred pages of that blessed book: 
 "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
 death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy 
 rod and thy staff they comfort me." 
 
 Throughout the centuries of human growth, death 
 has been a nightmare to the heart of man, "a king of 
 terrors crowned with fear and panoplied with grief." 
 
 Death is a sovereign whom all salute as they enter 
 
 —28— 
 
the lonely pilgrimage, the inevitable hour of dissolu- 
 tion. 
 
 Death — untiring, implacable, and relentless! Oh, 
 what a world of terror gathers at thy chilly touch and 
 the creep of thy un'holy hands! For, 
 
 "The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier. 
 And all we know, or dream, or fear, 
 Of agony are thine." 
 
 Yet it would be a lamentable fact indeed if out of 
 death we could not harves't the seed which burst, and 
 bloom, and burgeon, and bend with golden fruit of a 
 more abundant life. 
 
 I saw the manly form of stalwart youth bend 
 above his blushing bride, and out of his kiss of dew and 
 flame, it seemed the a.ngels came and lieaven bloomed 
 anew. And then at midnight's noon the scene had 
 shifted, and I saw tlie fond and fruitless gaze of love 
 on death. I heard his plaintive call to pallid lips, mo- 
 tionless and mute through time unto eternity. Engulf- 
 ed in grief, I heard his piteous cry: 
 
 'How can I wait, love, how can I wait. 
 Until the sunlight of your eyes shall shine 
 Upon my world thait seems so desolate, 
 Until your liandclasp warms my blood like wine, 
 Until you come again, love of mine, 
 How can I wait?" 
 
 And as I watched thisi evidence of the immortal- 
 ity of love I said, "I know that my redeemer liveth." 
 
 Our ever recurring contact with the reaper deaith 
 reminds us that his melancholy dirge and ringing re- 
 quiem has resounded through all the ages, "like the 
 
windharp's wild and touching wail." But with those 
 who place their faith in the teachings of the lowly 
 Nnzarene, the hour of dissolution has lost its terror and 
 death its sting. With them it i^i hut a. hrief and pain- 
 less period of the soul's transition, a ladder which 
 mounts to the gates of light and to "the land of joy and 
 song." 
 
 It is the dew and sheen and cloudless sunrise of 
 endless morning. It is the spreading dawn. And so 
 the voice of the Christian's faith proclaims there is no 
 death. 
 
 As we contemplate today the enigma of death, and 
 the unsolved mysteri^ of immortality, we are confront- 
 ed by another unsolved problem, the question — "what 
 is life"? 
 
 It is a question w'hich ever recurs whether we look 
 on the face of the dimpled babe, or into eyes that 
 are dimmed by memories — "what is life?" 
 
 "What is life? The minstrel plays it 
 On a reed of sweetest strain; 
 'Life is song that wakes: to music, 
 Joy or grief or depths O'f ])ain. 
 Nature trills it in her bird calls, 
 Croons it in her tuneful rain.' 
 
 What is life? The mystic sees it 
 
 In his crystal: 'Life is fate 
 
 Lurking just around the corner. 
 
 Coming early, coming late. 
 
 I^aws are fixed, and fate is changeless., 
 
 Watch file stars, and dream, and wait.' 
 
 Wliat is life? The man who lived it 
 Grives his answer and he saith: 
 'liife is love, a hand that beckons 
 Through the dusk, a long drawn breath, 
 And a kiss whose warmth we carry 
 Lingering with us unto dea.th'." 
 
 —30— 
 
Why, the exiisitence of a God is unquestionably ex- 
 pressed in the exalted and ennobling traits of character 
 and the saintly and holy attributes of sonl. It is mir- 
 rored in the faith and the smiles of friendship and in 
 the devotion and sacrifice of love. It is reflected in 
 the never silent voice of conscience. It is written in 
 the sign of the crosisi. 
 
 "Here on the paths of every day 
 Here on the common human way 
 Is all the 1)US3" Gods would take 
 To build a heaven, to mould and make 
 New Edens. ours the stuff sublime. 
 To build eternity in time." 
 
 No theory of life or death or immortality is worthy 
 of consideration which eliminates from its origin the 
 hand of a living and everlasting God. 
 
 For only a God could build the rugged mountains, 
 and rolling rivers, the silent steppes and livid plains. 
 Only a God could mould and make the dimpled rosary 
 of baby fingers, the amorous drapery of woman's beau- 
 ty. Only a God could kiss' with summer sungleams a 
 dream of glory from a rose. Only a God could swing 
 with threads of silver a crescent moon from a crystal 
 sky — only a God. 
 
 The Christian's God is the only God that has with- 
 stood the agnostic's wail and "the lichen-fingered touch 
 of time." The pagan Gods and sacred fanes of the an- 
 cients are long since lost in desert sands. The glow- 
 ing eyes of fair faced Venus are forever dimmed and 
 dead in stone. The harp of the rustic Pan which 
 
 —31— 
 
charmed the mountain nymphs and the goddess of 
 night is stilled in deathles's melod}'. Mighty Olj^npus, 
 the 'home of the Muses and the blissful abode of the 
 Gods, is but a drifting myth and legend of the past. 
 But the God of Abi'aham, Isaac and Jacob will live 
 forever. ' 
 
 And so it matters not that our .I'ourneys lengthen, 
 tliat the way is long and lonely, and tlie night is stair- 
 less', there comos to us the soft and sweet assurance 
 of a ''still small \oice" that, 
 
 "Behind the dim unknown, 
 Standeth God within t'he shadow. 
 Keeping watch above his own." 
 
 But the ciwpts of history and the halls of fame 
 have no place for him with whom all must end "in 
 the tongueless silence of the dreamless dust," and "all 
 that lies beyond the grave is' a voiceless shore and a 
 starless sky." With whom there were "no prints of 
 deathless feet on its echoless sands, no thrill of immor- 
 tal music in its joyless air." 
 
 The South has contributed her full quota of emi- 
 nent orators to American histoiy in such men as Lucius 
 Q. C. Lamar, Boliert Toombs, John Calhoun, and Hen- 
 ry Clay, yet no name is more universally loved than 
 that of Henry W. Grady. 
 
 The fame of Grady's brief career will rest upon 
 the radiant flights and wondrous reach of his' unequal- 
 led eloquence; and he will be remembered as an heir 
 and worthy product of Southern culture, and shining 
 son of Southern chivalry. 
 
 —32— 
 
A Geo]'g-ian by Invtli, a loyal Southerner through 
 the l'?giieY of a sectional belief, he was preeminently an 
 .\mericGn through a people's f er\ ent and effection- 
 ate adoption. 
 
 And when untimel}" death had stayed the music 
 and stilled the melody of his matchless tongue, both 
 North and South alike laid lo\'ing tribute on his grave, 
 because his life was given in attentive toil to telling 
 tlie "sunlit story" of a reunited people. 
 
 His early and unexpected death while yet absorb- 
 ed in the secred mission of reuniting the embittered 
 sections was a Southern loss and a national calamity 
 unequalled since the lamented death of the martyred 
 Lincoln. 
 
 The high estc.^m and holy regard with which his 
 mi?'sion in life, his gifted talents, and golden tongue 
 were held is best expressed in the pleasing phrases of 
 his friends and the glowing terms of his contempora- 
 ries. 
 
 Henrv^ Eagle said that "Grady was the melodious 
 song harp of blossoming spring, breathing its cadence 
 on banks of flowers and w^hispering streamlets, singing 
 the eartji its sweetest song." 
 
 Henry Watterson speaking to a New England au- 
 dience said: "He is gone now. But short a;^' his life' 
 was, its heaven born mission was fulfilled; the dream 
 of his childhood was realized; for he had been ap- 
 pointed by God to carry a message of peace on earth, 
 good will to men." 
 
 —33— 
 
John Temple Graves in his beantifnl enlogy art 
 Grady's grave said: "I agree with Patrick Collins 
 tliat he was the most brilliant son of this Republic. No 
 eloquence has equalled his since Sargent Prentiss faded 
 from the earth. No pen has ploughed such noble fur- 
 row in his country's fallow fields since the wrist of 
 Horace Greely rested. Nothing in the history of hu- 
 man speech cau e(iual the stately steppings' of his elo- 
 quence into glory." 
 
 Chauncey M. Depew remarked when informed of 
 his death: "We forget all differences of opinion and 
 remember only his chivalry, jiatriotism and genius. He 
 was the leader of the New South and died in the great 
 work of impressing its marvellous growth and na- 
 tional inspirations upon the willing ears of the North." 
 
 How oft with rai)t and eager interest, have I re- 
 viewed that period of American lii^:^'tory, clothed in 
 the choice and lofty language as it came from his la- 
 conic lips, and as I read I seem to see a sumptuous, 
 sunbathed vision of the Old South 's golden glory. It 
 was a dream of elegance and culture and comfort and 
 wealth which sui*i:)assed in gilded splendor the flights 
 of fancy and fho reaches of fable. 
 
 With the magic wand of his magnetic eloquence, 
 he lifted the ciutain of the vanished years, and I saw 
 the hospitable home of high-born cliivalr\% the lovely 
 realm of a lordly race. 
 
 Soothed and sul)diTed by the spirit of his words, 
 
I saw the immaculate beauty, the columned grandeur, 
 the unstained white of a stately mansion. 
 
 I saw a typical, representaitive Southern family 
 living in feudal luxurj^ — the polished father, the ma- 
 tronly motlier, tlie sturd}^ sons, and a winsome daugh- 
 ter beautiful as the blue-eyed blonde of Troy. 
 
 Spreading in olden, antebellum splendor, I saw 
 great fields of gold and green, where rivers of corn and 
 cane and cotton ran wanton to the dim horizon. 
 
 I saw the family groups of smiling slaves, content 
 tlirough kindly treatment, "happy in their cabin 
 homes." 
 
 It was a Beulah liand of boundless beauty, of ru- 
 ral peace, and rustic glory, and isilence, save for Bob 
 '^^^lite's piping call and the robin's roundelay. 
 
 Led on by the lure of his wondrous eloquence, I 
 stood in Congress halls, and heard in heated debate 
 the orators of a nation discuss the age-old, world-wide 
 question of human slavery. 
 
 With caustic tongue, and brilliant repartee, their 
 fnces flushed with grim conviction, I heard them argue 
 t'le Constitutional question of the right of ai state to 
 secede from the union. An ominous silence brooded 
 above the din of debate, and T saw the brilliant Troup 
 of Cecroin thi'ow down the gauntlet in the epic words: 
 "The argmnent is ended and the South will stand by 
 her guns." 
 
 Dazed and bewildered by the gathering gloom, I 
 looked away to the Southland, and saw riding the ris- 
 
 —35— 
 
iiig tempest, Uie ontstretelied wings of tlie storm Grod. 
 
 I heard tlie pitiless call to conflict by the bra-zen 
 banshee death. The stillness was tnrned to tnmult at 
 [•IP sombre sonnd of Sumpter's guns. It was the tocsin 
 of Y. ar. And then the tempest broke in untold fury. 
 
 In a vision relumed through words tipped with 
 flam.e. I saw those same green fields, trampled with 
 tlie tread of marching armies, and crimson with the 
 blood of carnage. 
 
 I saw those same l)rave sturdy sons, who enlisted 
 under the banner of the stars and bars, wrapped in its 
 folds, and covered with flowers. 
 
 I heard the sound of a silver bugle, the solemn re- 
 quiem for the martial dead. 
 
 With no associate but sorrow, no shelter but a can- 
 opy of grief and gloom, I saw a Southern woman, the 
 mother of the Southern Gracchi, meet grim famine 
 with a faith and fortitude unequalled in human his- 
 tory. 
 
 I saw the charge, the clas'h, the surge, the crim- 
 son skies of a hundred battle fields, till out of the hands 
 of the Old South, her ashes fell from an empty um. 
 
 It was a cross of death, a night of doom unequalled 
 since Calvary's agonies. 
 
 It was them.ost ghastl,y cataclysm ,?ince the Deluge, 
 the n^o-t horrible holocaust in all the ages of God. 
 
 And then at Appomattox, as if by Ariel's wand, 
 !h.e tcir-pcst stilled, the storm, clouds lifted, and I saw 
 the dawn. * 
 
 —36— 
 
I call it the dawn, my friends, for it was there that 
 the Soutliern soldier accepted the arbitrament of the 
 sv^'^ord, and from Northern pine to Southern palm swore 
 allegiance again to the old flag, to which he has since 
 remained as loyal and constant and true "a.s' Sirius to 
 its season." 
 
 A volume of wealth and prosperity trailed in the 
 wake of ttie years that followed. 
 
 Then T saw the wisdom and culture and knight 
 hood of the North seated about the banquet board in 
 the glitter and gleam of goblet and chandelier. 
 
 An unknown Southeni journalist arose to respond 
 to the toast "The New South." He was an apostle of 
 STinshine. a ward of chivalry, a prince of peace, and a 
 son of song. That man was Heniy W. Grrady. 
 
 The occasion was fraught with a grave responsi- 
 bility, for he was the first Southerner to speak at that 
 board since the close of the Civil War. 
 
 Cautiously and with characteristic courtesy he im- 
 plored his distinguished host that they lay aside sec- 
 tional prejudice and bring their "full faith in Ameri- 
 can fairness to judgment" on what he should say. 
 
 He contended that the American citizen had sup- 
 planted the citizens of the sections, "that both Puritan 
 and Cavalier were lost in the storm of the first Re^o- 
 lution." 
 
 He said that Abraham Lincoln was the first typical 
 American; that "he was the sum of Puritan and Cav- 
 alier, for in his ardent nature were fused the virtues 
 
 —37— 
 
of bo.t'h, and in the depths of his great soul the faults 
 of both were lost." 
 
 He said ' ' that in his homely form were first gath- 
 ered the vast and thrilling forces of his ideal govern- 
 ment" and that "his life was consecrated from the 
 cradle to the cause of human liberty. Speaking to the 
 toast with which he had been honored, he said "I ac- 
 cept the tenn 'The New South' ais in no sense disparag- 
 ing to the Old," for dear to me is the home and tradi- 
 tions of my people and "I would not if I could dim the 
 glor}^ they won in peace and war." 
 
 Tie attributed to divinity the termination of the 
 war when speaking of the New South he said: "As 
 she stands upright, I'ull-statured, and equal among the 
 people of the earth, Itreathing the keen air and looking 
 out upon the expanding horizon, she understands that 
 her emaTicipation came because in the inscrutable wis- 
 dom of God her honest ])urposes were crossed and her 
 brave armies were beaten." 
 
 He told in glowing terms of the return of the 
 North's victorious armies, "reading their gloiy in a 
 nation's eyes." And then in matchless pathos, he re- 
 ferred to that other army, "heroes in gray with hearts 
 of gold" who returned in "defeat and no.t in victoiT 
 but to hearts as loving as ever welcomed heroes home." 
 
 He concluded by saying that he believd an om- 
 niscient God in that great war "held in his hands the 
 balance of battle" and that he was glad "that human 
 
 —38— 
 
slavery was swept forever from American soil and the 
 union saved from the wreck of war." 
 
 As lie took his seat in the growing- tumnlt, I sav\' 
 that solemn tlaong forget formalities, and rise and 
 v\'ave and weep and cheer until forgiveness dawned 
 like day-hreak on each face. 
 
 And I said that brief as was his career, I had 
 rather have been the brilliant Grady, glowing in the 
 plaudits of that hour, with his faith in God and his 
 mission fulfilled, than to have passed life's allotted 
 span as the eloquent Ingersol, eternally seeking to em- 
 bitter the sections and who died blaspheming his G^od. 
 
 Divinely ajipointed, he had accomplished his mis- 
 sion, as great in purpose as it was novel in plan, that 
 of literally "loving a nation into peace." 
 
 As Victor Hugo said of Voltaire, "he was more 
 than a man. he was an epoch: He had done his work; 
 he had fulfilled his mission." He had risen unknown 
 to respond to a toast, but he had taken his seat under a 
 halo of immortality. 
 
 His pen was his sword, justice his shield, truth his 
 banner, and God his priest, and though he fought not 
 on the fields of battle, he conquered. Let us therefore 
 salute his memory. 
 
 It is true that "his sun went down at noon," but 
 we believe like that of Ben Hill's, it sank in deathless 
 glory "amid the prophetic splendors of an eternal 
 dawn." 
 
I do uot know that in the oratory of Ingersol and 
 Grady soctionalism affected their respective careers, 
 but I do believe that as long as the Son-them bloss'oin 
 differs from the Northern snow-flake, as long as the 
 sun shines on the South more kindly than it does on 
 the North, just so long will the orators of the South 
 lead in the philosophy of life and in the expression of 
 bouyant hope and noble sentiment. 
 
 Turning our attention next to statesmanship, I 
 think it befitting indeed that we should perpetuate in 
 marble and song and story the name of Washington, tlie 
 father of our country, who stood so high in public 
 life. 
 
 It would be futile before an audience like this to 
 review that period of American history so filled with 
 deeds of kniglitly genius and peerless chivahy. It would 
 be futile to tell again the well known storj' of that 
 strife, whose history is equally as sacred to us as the 
 air that lingers today around the tombs of Lee and Lin- 
 coln and Garfield. 
 
 I need not again review the well known life of that 
 man, the accomplished dream of whose career placed 
 in heaven "that colossal dome whose splendors are 
 shadowed in the broad ri\ er that flows by the shrine 
 at Mount ^''ernon." 
 
 The fabric of American loyalty is not so frail as to 
 forget so soon the name of Washington the pioneer 
 statesman and pati'iot and leader of that loyal band as 
 brave in battle as William the Oonqueror or Phillip 
 
 —40— 
 
the Fair, and as ehivalric in death as the martyred 
 Spartans of Thermopylae. 
 
 Of all the mighty dead, whose names are found on 
 Fame's immortal scroll, whose benefactions have 
 smoothed the pathway and lit the course of humankind, 
 liO name grows brighter with the receding years than 
 the glorious name of "Washington. 
 
 In the full and ample record which history keeps, 
 the span of liis great life shall always symbolize an 
 epoch in the growth of human liberty, and the sound of 
 his great name shall ennoble duty and sprinkle patriots 
 all down the pathway of the marching centuries. 
 
 Combining in the intricate structure of his char- 
 acter, the statesmanship of a Gladstone, the common 
 sense of a Cleveland, the magnanimity of a Grant, and 
 the military genius of a Lee, he spent more time in the 
 public service and contributed more to the common 
 weal than, any other man in American history. 
 
 Adopting the language of EoiS'coe Conkling, "his 
 fame was born not alone of things written and said, but 
 of the arduous greatness of things done." 
 
 One of the most consoling thoughts and inspiring 
 messages of his career, great as it was a,s a warrior, 
 greater still as a statesman, is the time attested fact 
 that through his exalted traits of character he was uni- 
 ^ersally trusted and universally loved. 
 
 John W. Daniel said of him in his beautiful trib- 
 ute: "No sum could now be made of Washington's 
 character that did not exhaust language of its tributes 
 
 —41— 
 
and rei:)eat \'irtiie by all her names. No sum could be 
 made of his achievements that did not unfold the his- 
 tory of his country and its institutions, the history of 
 his age and its progress, the history of man and his 
 destiny to be free." 
 
 Geoerge William Curtis said of him that "like the 
 flaming sword turning every way that guarded the 
 gate of Paradise, Washington's example is the 1)eacon 
 shining at the opening of our annalsi and lighting the 
 path of our national life." 
 
 He was characterized by Edward Everett as "the 
 greatest of good men and the best of great men," while 
 Broug'liam said of him that "he was the greatest man 
 of his own or of any age." 
 
 But perhaps the most glowing tribute to his char- 
 acter yet paid him was by his contemporary Henry 
 Lee, who said in his eulogy of Washington that "tO' hia 
 e(]ua]s he was condescending, to his inferiors kind, and 
 io the dear object of his affections exemplarily tender. 
 Correct throughout, vice shuddered in his presence, 
 and virtue always felt his fostering hand; the purity 
 of his private character gave effulgence to his public 
 virtues. ' ' 
 
 No name in all the annals of English literature has 
 received such wealth of flattering phrase or warmth of 
 heart felt eulogy; for truly his transcendent genius was 
 as rare and resplendent in its chosen sphere as thait of 
 T^aphael in the field of art, or of Mendelssohn in the 
 realm of melody. 
 
 —42— 
 
In tlie simple settings of his career — the proffered 
 seliool of unsought circumstance, the physical strength, 
 the stnlwart form, the manly figure, that fitted Wash- 
 ington from 3^outh for duties yet to come and for a 
 glorious destiny, I think I see the subtle hand of God. 
 
 I think I see God's kind and smiling face, as he 
 took this strong hut untaught lad in hand and led him, 
 fearless and unafiaid, into the silent depths of the 
 sa^-age home and into the untrod wilderness, 
 
 "While yet a youth of sixteen years, he entersi his 
 trail to destiny, which now we trace in quivering camp- 
 fires along the valley of the Shenandoah, and across 
 the crags of the Blue Ridge Mountains, surveying the 
 ultra-rnontane acres of the vast Fairfax estate. 
 
 Meeting and mingling with savage tribes on their 
 native heath, gathering from rugged experience the 
 rudiments of self reliance, receiving his discipline in 
 the exacting school of grim endurance, it was but a 
 step to the leadership of Dinwiddle's expedition 
 against the French. 
 
 His support and his saving from savage destruc- 
 tion of Braddock's ill-fated army added new laurels 
 to his' achievements, new confidence to his ability, and 
 new experience to the formative period of his military 
 career. . 
 
 And so T^hen tyranny had taken her toll, and the 
 inevitable conflict came, George Washington was pre- 
 pared by an extended experience to assume the leader- 
 ship of the Colonial armies. 
 
 —43— 
 
Of all the wars that flood and fill the leaves of 
 Iti story's crimson pages, none have been fought 
 throngli sncli ])eriods of gloom and none have been won 
 with 'nc'ii paeans of victory. 
 
 Measured b}^ its far-reaching effects, it was the 
 most momentous conflict in all the "tide of time;" it 
 was tlie mighty loin from which the priceless life of 
 liberty sprang; it was the colossal struggle that struck 
 the shackles from the bleeding feet of freedom. 
 
 Every American citizen who loves his flag thrills 
 Vv-itli gmtitude to the Colonial Fathers as he reads 
 the beautiful words of Emerson dedicated to the farm- 
 ers of Concord: 
 
 •'By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
 Their flag to Ai)rirs breeze unfurled, 
 Here once the embattled farmers stood. 
 And fired the shot heard round the world." 
 
 No army was ever marshaled upon a battlefield 
 ciiarged with, the solemn duty of fighting for such 
 sacred truths as announced in the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence. 
 
 No banner was ever lifted into light in defense of 
 holier principles. 
 
 We therefore do not wonder that AVashington and 
 his brave and valiant anny snccossfully withstood the 
 su]ge of winter's legions and the siege of famine at 
 Valley Forge. 
 
 We find new glory in their gallant feat of cross- 
 ing at night the ice i)acked Delaware and striking sue 
 cessfully the unsuspecting Hessian hordes. 
 
 —44— 
 
Wendell Pliillips said: "Liberty knows nothing 
 bnt victories. Bnnker Hill, soldiers call a defeat, but 
 liberty dates from it, though V/arren lay dead on the 
 field." 
 
 Perhaps the most enduring message which we 
 might gather from Washington's life is the fact, that 
 relying on Providence, he doubled his efforts when the 
 American cause seemed lost; that when his heart was 
 filled with a grief as deep as that which stilled the 
 heart of Niobe, lie did not sit like Marius on the walls 
 of Carthage and wpep, but he turned his eyes to the sun- 
 crowned simnnits of a brighter day. 
 
 But the work of Washington had only begun v/itii 
 the surrender of the foe at Yorktown. 
 
 It was his dream when the war had ended that he 
 might retire with a people's approval to the walk'^i of 
 private life. 
 
 He wrote Lafayette his associate in arms: "Envi- 
 ous of none, I am determined to be pleased with all, 
 thus, my dear friend, T will move gently down the 
 stream of life, until I sleep with my fathers." 
 
 But destiny had otherwise decreed, as Luzerne 
 had written Vergennes: "Tt will be useless for him to 
 try to hide himself and live the life of a private man." 
 
 Not only he, but the citizens of the several states, 
 had seen the weakness of the Continental Congress and 
 felt Vae urgent need of a more perfect union. 
 
 That this be accomplished had been advocated by 
 him as lie disbanded his Colonial army . 
 
 —45— 
 
Later by lettei" as a private citizen he implored the 
 several states, that sacrifices be made, that local inter- 
 ests be laid aside, that the debts of the war be paid, 
 and that steps be undertaken at once for the formation 
 of a strong central government. 
 
 In that critical hour of our naitional history, his 
 advice could not pass unheeded for lie tlien had secured 
 the confidence of the people, unequalled in history 
 since the days of William the Silent. 
 
 The Constitutional Convention was called and held 
 and logically he was chosen to ])reside over its delibera- 
 tions. 
 
 Tlie instrument which was drafted by that con- 
 vention has been described by one of England's most 
 gifted statesmen as ''the most wonderful work ever 
 struck off at a given time by the brain and purjDose of 
 man." 
 
 James Russel Lowell said that "oblivion looks in 
 tne face of the Greecian muse and forgets her errand," 
 so Washington, those labdi's ended, was not then per- 
 mitted to retire. 
 
 A record of American statesmanship could not be 
 adequately and impartially written which did not des- 
 cribe the achievements of statecraft which he accom 
 plished in his two terms as President. 
 
 Guided bv the ]u-omptings of his unselfish soul, 
 exhibiting the virtues of his democratic statesman- 
 ship, he declined to permit his name to be submitted 
 as a Presidential candidate for a third term. 
 
 —46— 
 
As he approached the end of liis public career, he 
 left a message of statesiiiauship in his farewell ad- 
 dress: -'Let there be no sectionalism, no North, South, 
 East, or West. Beware of attacks, open or co\^ert, 
 u]>on the Constitution. Do not encourage party 
 spirit. Promote education, avoid debt. As a na- 
 tion ha^'e neither passionate hatreds nor passionate 
 attachments.'- 
 
 ITe Avas our sword in war; he was our shield in 
 peace. ITe left to his people a Constitutional Govern- 
 ment, the richest legacy of all the dead. 
 
 One stone that entered his stately monument erect- 
 ed at the national capital was taken from the Temple of 
 Peace that stands by the Palace of the Caesars, and on 
 it inscribed these words: "Rome to America." Be- 
 neath this my friends, shall the oppressed of earth 
 through coming ages, write in letters of everlasting 
 light and love the sacred and simple addendum: "And 
 America to the cause of freedom." 
 
 It may be said of him as was said of the sage of 
 Monticello, that through all his years of public ser- 
 vice, "he never sold the truth to serve the hour." 
 
 As he retires to private life, we follow him to the 
 hills of Mt. Vernon, robed in a nation's affections, 
 crowned with a people's love, "the grandest crown 
 that veneration ever lifted to the brow of glory." 
 
 Again installed in his ancient home, as a private 
 citizen, he dreams of years of quiet and peaceful com- 
 panionship with those w^hom he loved best. 
 
 —47— 
 
Suddenly a severe cold strikes him; he falters; he 
 falls; his journey is ended. 
 
 And then they laid him down to sleep in the lov- 
 ing arms of Old Virginia, on a step of those s^tately hills, 
 by the brink of that beautiful river, which murmurs 
 on in ceaseless melody to its home in the crystal sea. 
 
 But the annals of our national history contain the 
 name of another president, Andrew Jackson, a parallel 
 and a contrast, paradoxical as it may seem, to the name 
 of the statesman ju-t mentioned. He too won laurels 
 £is a military loader and for eight years faithfully serv- 
 ed his people as President of the United States, but 
 there was a decided contrast in the characters of the 
 two men. 
 
 Washington was conservative in nature, Jacksion 
 was impulsive and erratic; Washington was aristocra- 
 tic by birth, Jackson was plain and unassuming; Wash- 
 ington was politic and practical, Jnckson was unchange- 
 able in purpose, i)ut each the embodiment of honesty 
 and honor, mankind reads to day ''their glory in a 
 iiation's eyes, their epitaph in a nation's love, thsir re- 
 ward in a nation's peace." 
 
 Tt has been said that Charles ?^^artel raised the 
 cross above tlie battlefield of Tours and saved the con- 
 tinent of Europe from the curse of Mohammedanism. 
 
 Andrew Jaclcson, if jiossible, performed a greater 
 service for America. 
 
 He accom]ilished through an established practice 
 what Jefferson had conceived as an embryonic theory, 
 
 —48— 
 
that all men are created equal and that governments 
 should exist by the consent of the governed. 
 
 Always believing that a public office was a public 
 trust, to hijn the merited confidence of a confiding con- 
 stituency was more potent as a m.eans of public promo- 
 tion than the powerful Poseidon of political trickery. 
 
 In m.atters of national import, he sought to secure 
 the views of the people as an essential prerequisite to 
 decisive action; and the people's pulse and the public 
 weal was the torch that illumined his path to duty. 
 
 He held the view and felt the same deepseated 
 sympathy in the interests of the people as Abraham 
 Lincoln who said he ''believed God loved the common 
 ]ieople because he had made so many of them." 
 
 Keepiuir through years of public service the peo- 
 ple's welfare ever before him "as his cloud by day 
 and his pillar of fire by night," we do' not wonder at 
 the tribute of Edgar Sanderson who said : ''There was 
 long a class of white-haired Americans, perhaps not all 
 of them yet gathered to honored graves who believed 
 that political virtue left the earth with shining wings 
 Avhen Andrew Jackson breathed his last." 
 
 The message of his success as a statesman is found 
 in the fact that he was the Saint Paul of the Jeffer- 
 sonian doctrine of government, and the reason for his 
 success in politics was his conception of the truth so 
 eloquently uttered by Grady that "if there is any hu- 
 man force that can not be withstood, it is the power 
 of the banded intelligence and responsibility of a 
 —49— 
 
free coramiinity — against it numbers and corrnption 
 can not prevail." 
 
 Of liis great career, Grover Cleveland aptly said: 
 •'Jackson lias been in the people's eyes the incarnation 
 of the things which Jefferson declared; if they did 
 not understand all that Jefferson wrote, they saw and 
 knew wliat Jackson did." 
 
 That he so long could hold the loyalty and the af- 
 fectionate regard of the American people is attributable 
 to the fact that he had in his blood the courage of his 
 convictions. 
 
 Fear had no place in his great soul, and with un- 
 daunted fortitude he met the issues as they came, never 
 exchanging his golden armor for the mail of Diomedes. 
 
 No statesman in American history has started his 
 career fi-om such humble station and succesisfully scaled 
 such cliffs of care, such crags of toil and sacrifice, and 
 reached such sunlit fields of fame. 
 
 No statesman in the list of our national leaders 
 whose names are eternally linked with the growth of 
 our great Republic possessed a more remarkable per- 
 sonalitv or passed through a more spectacular car- 
 eer. 
 
 The histoiy of his rapid rise to power, glowing 
 
 with achievement and with deeds of valor, as he con- 
 
 (juered the barriers that beset his way, reads like the 
 
 stoiy of a thrilling romance. 
 
 As we open the book of his life, we find him pass- 
 —50— 
 
Ing Jiis boyhood days as an awkward, unkempt youth 
 along the banks of the upper Catawba. 
 
 An illiterate orphan at the age of fourteen years, 
 kicking the comforting assistance of kinsmen and the 
 kindly encouragement of friends, he started life as a 
 saddler's apprentice. 
 
 ^Ve see him while yet a lad, incurring a hatred 
 for England which never died, because of being struck 
 by a Brittish officer for refusing to brush his boots. 
 
 At the age of twenty-one years, we see him daring 
 as public prosecutor to enforce the laws in Tennessiee 
 Territory. 
 
 Swearing allegiance to the king of love, the only 
 superior he ever acknowledged, we find him marrying 
 beautiful Rachel Pobards in the erroneous belief she 
 had secured her divorce. 
 
 We see him filling the honored positions as mem- 
 ber of Tennessee's Constitutional Convention, as Re- 
 presentative and Senator at the national capital, and 
 as Judge of her highest court. 
 
 A^nd when Florida had been purchased from Spain, 
 from a field of able and experienced statesmen, he was 
 selected to serve as first Governor. 
 
 AVith the bravery of the white plumed Henry of 
 Navarre, we see him leading his fearless followers 
 through the dust and deadly din of battle in the charge 
 against the Creeks at Tohopeka. 
 
 Though overwhelmingly opposed by Pakenham's 
 ■S'eterans, we see him in the P>attle of New Orleans, un- 
 
 —51— 
 
dertake and achieve a victory unequalled since tli 
 memoi'able morn at Marathon . 
 
 Throngli the universal confidence which his cou 
 age commanded, his willingness to dare, and his' abili' 
 to achieve, through the glory that followed in the glea 
 of his sword, he reached the highest office within tl 
 gift of the people. 
 
 One writer has said in discussing his charact< 
 that "there were man^^ sides of his character th; 
 !-hone glorion-^ly in the light of liberty," that "he w; 
 as true as he was terrible; he was as forceful as he W5 
 simple " 
 
 Charles Schurz said of him that "to his militai 
 heroship he owed the popularity which lifted him in1 
 the Presidential chair; and he carried the spirit ( 
 the warrior into the business of the government. H 
 party was to him his army; those who opposed him tl 
 oueray. H^ knew not how to argue but how to con 
 mand; not how to deliberate but how to act." 
 
 He exhibited his sagacious and far-sighted state 
 manship in demanding that Biddle's bank return a 
 de])osits to the United States TreaiSiury, and in pr< 
 venting his securing a renewal of its charter. 
 
 He added great strength to the National Goveri 
 ment. and standinc: to the office which he so ably fillec 
 in ronniring South Carolina to recede from_ the pos 
 lion she had assum.ed in nullification legislation. 
 
 Witliout question, the secret of his success as 
 statesman is found in the fact that he dared where otl: 
 
 —52— 
 
ers deliberated, that he accomplished where others 
 conceived. 
 
 His very nature seemed to attest the immortal 
 truth so beautifully expressed by James Parton, who 
 said: "To dare, to dare again, and always to dare is 
 the inexorable condition of every signal and worthy 
 success, from founding a cobbler's stall, to promulgat- 
 ing a nobler faith." 
 
 Perhaps the most unpleasant feature of his turbu- 
 lent career, and without doubt to the readers of history 
 the most pathetic, was the unwarranted and unneces- 
 sary calumny which was heaped by political enemies 
 upon the name of his pure wife. 
 
 But it may be said to his eternal credit, that he pos- 
 sessed a devotion for Rachel which the assiaults of slan- 
 der could not destroy, and at no period in their lives 
 did his affections falter, but even unto death his love for 
 her was as beautiful, and tender, and true, as that of 
 Idas for Marpessa. 
 
 Tiistorians toll us that as he stood by the open 
 grave of Pachel at the Hermitage, and looked for the 
 last time on her still, pale face, he lifted his cane and 
 said: "In the presence of this dear saint, I can and do 
 forgive all my enemies. But those vile wretches who 
 have slandered her must look to God for mercy. ' ' 
 
 She is described in the epitaph on the humble 
 stone that marks her resting place as "a being so gen- 
 tle and yet so virtuous, vile slander might wound but 
 could not dishonor. ' ' 
 
 —53— 
 
This language reflected an admitted truth and con- 
 tained a merited tribute, forever crystallized into en- 
 during' marble, for surely among the long and illus- 
 trious list of the noble women of America, no sunnier, 
 sweeter, purer character ever graced a fireside or dried 
 a tear. 
 
 I had the pleasure some yearsi ago, of visiting the 
 Hermitage, the old home of Andrew Jackson. In com 
 pany with a crowd of A^anderl)ilt boys, we drove out in 
 a tallyho across the green hills of Tennessee to tlie old 
 home of the pioneer patriot and president. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning in May. The fragrant 
 air was freiglitod with tlie perfume of blooming flow- 
 ers and pulsing with bird song. I remember distinctly 
 the impression of the beautiful scene when we anived 
 at the outer gate and dro^■e up through a grove of giant 
 cedars that stood lil^e Druids of Eld to his old home, 
 a white columned mansion of Colonial magnificence. 
 We walked through a field to the little log cabin that 
 sheltered Jackson in boyhood days and in which later 
 in life he entertained Aaron Burr. Returning, we 
 came to a flower garden which opened mto the fami- 
 ly cemetery, and stopping suddenly, lay companion 
 remarked; "Here is the grave of Andrew Jackson." 
 Immediately, and unconsciously, I lifted my hat. I 
 thought of Jackson the barefoot boy, playing soldier 
 among the rugged hills and sand-dunes of South Caro- 
 lina. I thought of Jackson the warrior, leading the 
 rustic yeomanry of the South against the Seminoles 
 
 —54— 
 
and Southeastern Spaniards. I tlionglit of Jackson 
 the generous host spreading with lavish hand the ban- 
 quet board before his faithful friends, like Calypso 
 at Ulysses'' coming. I thought of Jackson the intre- 
 pid statesman, daring in Congress Halls "to shiver a 
 lance in the lists of high debate," and guiding at last 
 the helm of state as feairlessly as he had been brave 
 in b-attle. Walking back to the home in which he 
 died, I saw the old stage-coach in which he travelled 
 from Nashville to Washington. I saw the stirrups 
 and the spurs that he wore in the battle of New Or- 
 leans. I saw the battle flag that lay on the grave of 
 Lafayette. I saw la silvered 'lock of ithe grim ]pld 
 hero's hair. But that which impressed me most and 
 which seemed to give me a message of his life was a 
 letter and its answer framed and hanging on the walls. 
 It seems that in his last sickness, when the end was 
 near, the citizens of the City of New York wrote him a 
 letter in which they asked the privilege of burying his 
 body in a magnificent sarcophagus of marble, and 
 gilt, and gold. He wrote this simple message in re- 
 ply: "I could not consent that my last resting place 
 be a respository fit only for a potentate or a king." He 
 said: "I was born among the common people who are 
 liie bone and the sinew of this republic, and when I 
 die, I want to be borne by their hands to the open 
 grave, and be laid to rest forever by the side of my 
 faithful wife." 
 
 And now for a few moments. Ladies and Gentle- 
 
 —55— 
 
men, I desire to discuss the careers of two stars of 
 military fame, Napoleon Bonaparte Itlie Corsacaai 
 genius and the immortal Robert E. Lee. 
 
 It is a sad but unquestionable commentary that 
 every national line and nation's history of to day is 
 written in human blood. 
 
 Plenry Watterson said that "Tragedy walks hand 
 in hand with history and the eyes of gloiy are wet with 
 tears." 
 
 In the morning of Hebraic history, the first re- 
 corded act after tlie fall of Eden is a murder. 
 
 Long before the birth of the son of Terali, mighty 
 conquerois arose and founded kingdoms and military 
 fame eclipsed all other glories. 
 
 Poets and artists from time immemorial have 
 vied for immortelles' in describing the heroes of w^ar. 
 
 The history of France is melancholy in her sor- 
 rows and chastening struggles to enlarge the liberties 
 of her iDeople, and obtain the blessings of democratic 
 rule. 
 
 Historians admit that the purposes and the im- 
 pulses of the French Revolution were generous, that 
 its struggles were heroic, and that its ideals: were im- 
 perishable. 
 
 Tliey admit that it had its birth in the intended 
 abolition of feudal ideas, its object in the elimination 
 of unequal privileges, and its end in tlie destruction of 
 despotic government. 
 
 In the discussion of the career of Napoleon Bona- 
 
 —56— 
 
parte, T would not be true to the records of history if 
 I did not attribute to him a portion of the progress 
 which was made in his day, in the ultimate attainment 
 of these ideals. 
 
 Tlie French Revolution with its attendant horrors 
 was but an example in history of a blood-stained higli- 
 way which lilierty has always been forced to follow. 
 Its natural and resultant Reign of Terror was; the fran- 
 tic appeal of outraged justice, the violent voice of uni- 
 versal distress. 
 
 The original and envenomed pen of Mirabeau had 
 l)rought to the eyes of a restless people the ruthless 
 tyranny of incompetent kings and the wrongs and ac 
 cumulated burdens of the centuries. 
 
 With tlie treasury depleted, the army demoraliz- 
 ed, and the people depressed by the curse of feudalism, 
 the times were propitious for a change of government 
 and favorable for a new birth of freedom. 
 
 A constitutional monarchy was the dream of 
 Mirabeau, fashioned from the plan which England had 
 adopted. 
 
 It was therefore unfortunate at this critical hour 
 that the dream of liberty and the reign of law should 
 be lost in ungovernable excesses of anarchy because of 
 a Y\^eakling on the throne of France. 
 
 When Napoleon stood on the steps of St. Roque 
 and dispersed the mobs in the streets of Paris, he ren- 
 dered to France a service as immortal as his brilliant 
 leadership at the seige of Toulon. 
 
 —57— 
 
This service to France was invaluable and last- 
 i]]g for he had composed her Keign of Terror and re- 
 deemed the Directory from a disorderly rabble. In 
 an hour of ])eri!, he had saved the Republic and "had 
 .juenched tlie spark of rebellion with blood." 
 
 And so France, my friends, can never forget that 
 it was the might and magic of Napoleon's genius that 
 first stayed the lawless hand of rebellion, that crushed 
 the insolence and infamy of feudalism, that kindled the 
 fires on the altars of freedom, and stripped autocracy 
 of its imperial purple. 
 
 In the art of warfare and the strategy of conflict, 
 the deeds and achievements of this splendid prodigy 
 \y[]\ {ovoxQv stand foremost in all earth's records. 
 
 Charles Phillips said of Napoleon that "he com- 
 menced his course a stranger by birth, and a scholar 
 by charity, with no friend but his sword and no fortune 
 but his talents, he lushed into the lists where rank 
 and wealth and genius had arrayed themselves and 
 competition fled from him as from the glance of des- 
 tiny." 
 
 He attributed the loyalty of Napoleon's legions 
 to his unselfish and remarkable personality, when he 
 said: "Oadled in the camp, he was: to the last hour 
 the darling of the army, and whether in the camp or 
 the cabinet, lie never forsook a friend or forgot a 
 faivor. ' ' 
 
 Had he been contented with his successful efforts, 
 with which he thwarted the purposes and subdued the 
 
 —58— 
 
powers, who sought to destroy democra\tic o'overn- 
 ijient, restore the Ronrbons, and enslave the people, 
 his name vronld liave remained imperishable in his- 
 tory. 
 
 But it matters not how laudable the purposes or 
 how saei-ed the principles he at first espoused, he for- 
 sook them all when intoxicated with glory, to follow in 
 I he wake of the star of ambition. 
 
 T.. if ted to power through the new-born democracy, 
 wiiich he had defended and might have enthroned, we 
 find him using its holy cause as a means to advance 
 his personal ambition. 
 
 Prior to his victory at the Bridge of Lodi, the pur- 
 poses of Napoleon were no doubt unimpeachable. 
 
 Napoleon said that '4t was not till after the terri- 
 ble i^assage of the Bridge of Jjodi that the idea shot 
 across my mind that I might become a decisive actor 
 in the political arena." 
 
 It was there he said, "then arose for the first time 
 tlie spark of a great ambition." 
 
 It was out o^' the crimson skies of Lodi, out of 
 that pitiless tempest of death, that his glittering star 
 of destiny api)eared to beckon him on with its madden- 
 ing lure. 
 
 T^amberton said it was at this battle, "he had 
 caught his first glimpse of his star of destiny, and with 
 mystic mien he unfalteringly followed it." He said 
 that Napoleon "never lost sight of it until at last it 
 set behind the flame-streaked, smoke-crowned field of 
 Waterloo." ' 
 
 —59— 
 
If histor}" therefore has correctly judged him, that 
 glorious victory was the Great Divide in his multi- 
 pliase c/inraeter and turbulent career. 
 
 beginning with that momentous battle, that epo- 
 chal hour; Na})oleon Bonaparte ))ecomes the "intoxi- 
 cation of ti iumpli, the incarnation of merry yet savage 
 despotism. He is the mad plentitude of power seek- 
 ing for limits, l)ut finding tlieni not, neither in men 
 nor facts." 
 
 In the elo(iuent language of Sargent Prentiss, in 
 I he latter portion of his mad career, "Napoleon was 
 the red and fieiy comet, shooting wildly through the 
 realms of space and scattering pestilence and terror 
 among the nations." 
 
 No logic of his most ardent admirers can justify 
 •lis ])itiless and unpro\oked invasion of Egypt or his 
 heartless conquest of Spain. 
 
 In tlie e'tartling success of each succeeding cam- 
 paign, marked by the genius of his leadership and 
 {lie seeming inviricibility of his armies, the issues for 
 which they sti'uggled became obscured. 
 
 Conscious of the brilliant glow and ascendency of 
 his star of de-tiny. worshipped as its idol by a peerless 
 army, seated in the shadow of its eagles, he conceived 
 the idea of reviving the monarchy. 
 
 We see him betray the trust of a brave and chival- 
 rie people as he restored the monarch's rule, assuming 
 his seat aloof in royal robes and regal pomp, "high on 
 a throne of royal state, which far outshone the wealth 
 of Ormus and of Ind." 
 
 —60— 
 
An Gntrant in the circle of Kuropeon sovereigns, 
 Insolent and antocratic as the imperial Caesars, we see 
 him hanglitily wearing the crown of empire. 
 
 We see the fallen form of liberty mnte and life- 
 less at his feet, the stars of victory faded from her fore- 
 head, and his red thnmb-prints on her white throat. 
 
 Forgetting the canse that thrilled his early activi- 
 ties, snpported by a soldiery as brave aa ever bled "in 
 bleak Thermopylae's sepnlchral strait," we see him 
 ^ith snllen mien, inlaying with alien armies the chess 
 of chance and conquest, to him a greater sport, "whose 
 game was empires and whose stakes were thrones." 
 
 One brilliant v%'riter has said of Napoleon that "he 
 was the most crnel and selfish culprit of all time." 
 
 Metternich said of him that "he had bnt one pas- 
 sion, tliat of power, that ais a war chariot cnishes 
 e^ erything it meets on its way. so he thonght of noth- 
 ing bnt to advance." 
 
 Impartial history should at last divide the lau- 
 rels of his achievements with the peerless leadership 
 of his marshals, but as the loftiest peak catches the 
 first rays of the rising sun and is crowned monarch of 
 tlie hills, so Napoleon Bonaparte is the proud vecipi 
 ont of all tne praise. 
 
 Yet I must confess tliat there is a strange and un- 
 speakable facination in following the movements of 
 his incomparable genius. T love to watch him as lie 
 leads his veteran legions across the gunny summits o? 
 the snoT\ capped Alps and plants them on the plains 
 
 —61— 
 
of Italy. I love to follow liim to the shadow of the 
 })yramids. wlien standing before the flower of French 
 chivalry, he said: "Forty centiiriesi look down upon 
 you " T love to watch the spni-kle of his genius at 
 Abensburg, Ulm, and Austrilitz, and "crossing the 
 Bridge at Lodi with the tri-color in his hand." And 
 niy heart always melts with sympathy when T think of 
 
 how his hopes went down with the faithful Old Guard 
 at Waterloo, and how he was afterwards banished to 
 tlie lonely rock of St. Helena. JUit 1 forget Napoleon 
 the general and think of Napoleon the man, when I 
 read of how the flowering knighthood of France was 
 lost in its march from Moscow. 
 
 I forget Napoleon the general and I think of Na- 
 poleon the man when I recall that he pushed the only 
 woman who ever loved him from his side for a light- 
 headed frivolous Austrian princess. 
 
 Victor Hugo said that "the purposes of God and 
 Napoleon's purposes had crossed," and that "his fall 
 had been decreed by providence." He said that 
 AVaterloo was not a battle that it was "a universe 
 changing front." 
 
 The angel of history will portray and condemn 
 with unsparing ^ensure the colossal tragedy in the life 
 of Nar)oleon. who rose to power as the champion of 
 liberty, but v^ho fell as the angry Nemesis of Europe 
 and the remorseless Juggernaut of war. 
 
 For the wreck and ruthless ruin his loyal legions 
 wrought to the monody of muffled drums throughout 
 
 —62— 
 
a continent, in the plea of military necessity or cause 
 of self defense, liistory may palliate and in time atone; 
 ))nt for the seas of sorrow he brought to hearts and 
 hearths and homes and the tide of blood and tears that 
 flowed to lift his craft to glory, he must find his 
 leckoning in the courts of God. 
 
 But how different and what a contrast is found 
 in the life of Robert E. Lee, who forsook the star of 
 ambition, the leadership of the union armies, to as- 
 snme the leadership of the armies of his own native 
 state. 
 
 fn a Southern audience, always emotional, the 
 name of no leader in American history can call into 
 being such fountains of zealous tribute or floods of 
 Ijoly, heartfelt sentiment, as the name of Robert E. Lee, 
 the loA\able and lamented leader of the Lost Cause. 
 
 For almost half a century his name has command- 
 ed the highest honors in the Old South 's Hall of Fame; 
 aod viewed to day in the glow and sunlight of South- 
 ern affection, no career in time can compare with that 
 of this storm-born "paladin of battle," and white 
 plumed prince of Christian chivalry. 
 
 Robert E. Lee was a worthy scion of illustrious 
 sires, a descendent of some of the most prominent war- 
 liors and statesmen of the Revolutionary period. 
 
 His father was the brave and inimitable "Light 
 Horse Harry" Lee, the hero of Paulus Hook, of Eutaw 
 Springs, and Yorktown, and the idol of other armies. 
 
 Bearing in his veins the restless blood of ances- 
 
 —63— 
 
tors, whose talents and time and patrimony were spent 
 in military careers and in the pnblie serviee. it was 
 bat natural that he slionld select and receive his train 
 ing for life in the West Point Military Academy. 
 
 Graduating from that institution with distinguish- 
 ed honors, he exhibited in the war with Mexico his 
 wonderful military genius and his skill as a civil en- 
 gineer, at the seige of Vera Cruz and the storming of 
 Cliapultepec. 
 
 It is a mattei- of hiudable pride to every loyal 
 Southerner that it was not through "love for gold or 
 gain or strife for coronet or crown that induced him 
 to forswear the government under whose aegis he was 
 born," and upon wliose bright escutcheon in battles 
 fought in other days, "he had shed a new and richer 
 lustre." 
 
 Thonsrh loyal to the state of his nativity, linked 
 to her glorious achievements with lies of blood, and to 
 her deathless traditions with thieads of gold. Robert 
 E. Lee would never have renounced his allegiance to 
 the union but for the fact he believed implicitly in the 
 l>rinciple«! for which the Confederacy fought. 
 
 That his election to champion the Southern cause 
 was determined by the princi])les involved is establish- 
 ed by the languau'e he used when the surrender of 
 the South seemed inevitable. He said: "We had, I 
 was satisfied, sacred principles to mantain, and rights 
 to defend, for whicli we were in duty bound to do our 
 best, even if we perished in the endeavor." 
 —64— 
 
Several years after the war had ended, General 
 Lee remarked to (reneral Wade Hampton: *'We could 
 have pursTied no other course without dishonor. And 
 sad as the result has been, if it had all to be done over 
 again we should be compelled to act in precisely the 
 same manner." 
 
 If I were asked today to review the reasons and 
 disclose the cause of that great civil conflict, I would 
 lead you back to the Teutonic forests where Angle and 
 tSaxon and Jute mingled in purest democracy. T would 
 watch those sacred rights develop until Puritan and 
 Cavalier sought tlie wilds of Western America, where 
 they might enjoy the freedom of self government and 
 avoid the impositions of a t^Tannical mother. 
 
 T would show you an American Revolution follow- 
 ed close by a New England secession. I would read 
 to you the eternal truths from that sacred gospel of 
 human liberties, the American Declaration of Indepen- 
 dence. T would trace the ever-widening diversity of 
 views on the issues of state rights and of centralized 
 government from the distant days of Hamilton and 
 Jeffer«ou to the sound of Sum])ter's guns. 
 
 Why, my friends, the theory and history of this 
 government is written in the assertion of individual 
 rights, and a relentless resoi-t to the medium of revolu- 
 tion, and Southern States in seceding from the union 
 followed the liighway of the Colonial fathers and the 
 
 liistory of the Anglo Saxon race. 
 —65— 
 
In the blaze of slander and calumny and criticism, 
 wliich for a time folloYred the career of Lee, it found no 
 lack of consistency in his armor, and no stain of ambi 
 lion upon Ids bright shield. 
 
 Through the span of his life as citizen and soldier, 
 K'obert E Lee was a votary to duty and a patriot to 
 princi])le, and in the eyes of the just and impartial 
 judge, with whom ''a thousand years; are as a watch 
 in the ni^ht,'' his character and his motives shall ever 
 remain, as pure as the snow and spotless as a moon- 
 beam. 
 
 Tn his beautiful eulogy, Doctor Goodwin said: 
 "The storm cradled nation whose course his genius 
 guided tlirough all its years of bitteiness and blood is 
 a thing of the past., but the principles which called it 
 into existence and placed him at its helm will live as 
 long as liberty has a champion or patriotism a friend.'' 
 . In tiie legal aspect of the right to secede from the 
 union, every loyal Southernei' yields today to the eter- 
 nal arbitrament of the sword, with a renewed allegi- 
 ance to the larger union of American states, and a 
 deathless devotion to the glorious ensign of the Ameri- 
 can Republic. 
 
 I'he war between the North and the South was no 
 doubt inevitable and the momentous nature of the is- 
 sues involved rendered it imperative that hostilities 
 snould not ceasc^ until those issues were eternally set- 
 tled. 
 
 —66— 
 
John ^y. Daniels said: "It was well for all that 
 tne war was foii.^ht to the finish without compromise 
 either tendered or entertained. The fact that it was 
 so fought ont gave finality to its result and well nigh 
 evtincui'-hed its emhers with its flames. No drop of 
 blood liotween Petersburg and A])pomattox, not one 
 in the last charge was shed in vain." 
 
 And T rejoice today that the time has come in this 
 ^•ountry when the people no longer grovel "among 
 tlie emJjers and ignoble passions of the past," but that 
 our thoughts are concerned with the fraternal devel 
 opment of our national life, and the handsome progress 
 of our mighty republic. 
 
 In comparing the brilliant careers of Napoleon 
 and Lee. it is the accepted view of military critics that 
 I.ee was the peer of the Corsican prodig}^, in the stra- 
 tegy of battle and in his genius as a general. 
 
 When Robert E Lee assumed the leadership of 
 Southern armies, in the beginning of the mightiest 
 conflict of the ages, he was confronted with a Her- 
 culean tusk. 
 
 His untrained soldiery marched to battle fronts 
 from the customary walks of life, untaught in mili- 
 tary tactics and unprovided with arms and munitions. 
 Tlirough the magic of his genius as a general, he form- 
 ed and disciplined a mighty army, moulding military 
 efficiency from crude and chaotic material. 
 
 He selected and assigned the leadership of this 
 
 —67— 
 
nrmy to a eotorie of tlie ablest generals of liis or of 
 any age. 
 
 Of all earth's groat and incomparable leaders 
 wliose g(>nins has fanned the red fnry of battle and 
 whose matchless minds have rnled its storm, none can 
 compare with Lee's capable assistants, Jackson, and 
 .lolmstoti, and CoTdon, and Hill. 
 
 Tlie record of Robert E. I^ee as commander-in- 
 chief of the Confederate forces from his ascendency 
 at Seven Pines until the surrender at A])pomattox was 
 unequalled by Marlborough or V/ellington and nnex 
 celled by Caesar or Napoleon. 
 
 His wonderful success as a leader was made pos 
 sible through the devotion and loyalty of his men. 
 
 General John B. Gordon said that "Napoleon 
 Bonaparte never more firmly held the faith of French- 
 men when thrones were trembling before him than did 
 Lee hold the faith of his devoted followers amidst the 
 gloom of his lieaviest disasters." 
 
 But tJie decided contrast of his character uith 
 Napoleon's was the humane manner with which he 
 conducted war. 
 
 When Jefierson Davis congratulated Genera! 
 hee's armv on tlie victories about Richmond, he said: 
 "Your huinanity to the wounded and the prisoners 
 was the fit and crowning glory of your valor." 
 
 II may be said to the credit of Lee that through 
 out Ids campaigns and his military (;areer> he treated 
 humanely all noncombattants and respected the rignt-^ 
 
 —68— 
 
of y)rivate projiorly; that with his consent or at his 
 c'Oininand, he never threw :-i shadow across the heavt 
 of cliildhcod, nor took a tear fioin the clieek of love. 
 
 It was onlv through the civilized methods and 
 ifiauly manner with which he fcmgh^ his hattles, that 
 out of the cauldron of that (?rim conflict, the crucible 
 of that great war, we could achieve the restoration of 
 a uniti'd i)Cople and sacred assurance of an inseparable 
 union. 
 
 No higher tribute has been paid Lee's cliai-'.'cter 
 than tliat by the elonuent Ben Hill of Georgia who 
 >i\id: "He was as obedient to authority as a servant 
 and royal in authority as a true king. He was gentle 
 as a wojnan m life and modest and pure as a virgin 
 m thought, watcliful as a Roman vestal in duty, sub- 
 jnissive to law as Socrates, and grand in battle as 
 Achilles." 
 
 When the cause for which he fought had been 
 lost, and the stricken Confederacy "lay prone upon her 
 shield," he sheathed his sword without vindictiveness 
 and unaunoyed Iw the quickening qualms of consci- 
 ence. 
 
 Bending to none with proffered apology, he re- 
 turned to his peaceful pursuits, "wearing the crested 
 cypress of defeat as gravely proud as some successful 
 Caesar might wc^ar the conqueror's coronal of bays." 
 
 Far up among the hills of New England, not long 
 ago, several men sat talking in a Pullman smoker. A 
 cultured son of a Northern soldier was entertaining 
 —69— 
 
the crowd in discussing the generals of the Civil War. 
 After talking- at length, he said that Grant was the 
 greatest general of American history, that his name 
 v-zas carved in eternal stone, bnt. he said, where is the 
 name of Robert E. Ijce? An old grey-haired cork- 
 legged ^'cteran, who had been listening, lay down his 
 paper, lifted his glasses and said: "Young man, I 
 was born far into the Southland among the rugged hills 
 of Georgia: I followed Robert E. Lee for four long, 
 weary years, from Chancellorsville to Gettysburg, and 
 from Geltv^ibui-g to Appomattox. And I remember 
 well the April morning at Appomattox when with lift- 
 ed cap and eves that ^^ore \^'et with tears, T clasped 
 the hand of Robert E Lee with all the tender emotions 
 of a soldier's last farewell, and stacked my bent and 
 battered musket and went limping back to Dixie." 
 
 He said: *'! agree with you that Grant was a 
 great, a noble, a generous general, but you ask where 
 is the name of Robert E. Lee. Go yonder across 
 Mason and Dixon's line into the palatial homes of the 
 Southland and you will find hanging above the doors 
 The picture of Robert E. Lee,. Go search the literature 
 iind song of those jieople where linnets carol in syl- 
 van shades and ''cotton rows whiten beneath the 
 stars;" yes go yonder across Mason and Dixon's line 
 and pa«!S the inner wicket that leads to the temple of 
 len million Southern hearts and there you will find 
 wiitten in the crimson ink of undying love the name 
 of Robert E. Lee." 
 
 —70— 
 
Head amid the green hills of Virginia, '*a youth to 
 fortune find to fame unknown," Robert E. Lee was a 
 st;u" of the first magnitude when the thundering artil- 
 lery and the lightning flash of musketiy painted a 
 scene of desolation and woe upon the cloud of war. The 
 North may boast of her Grant and France of her Corsi- 
 can genius, but tell us, Oh mystic musie, keeper of the 
 garnered gallery of inimortelles, have you one name 
 
 which can compare with our stalwart Southern leader? 
 
 Grceca 
 Tell us, Oh classiCy^wiien all your land was lit by genius 
 
 and when your white winged galleys flocked on the 
 
 Aegean shore^ had you one name which could compare 
 
 ^vith our immortal Lee? 
 
 Robert Ri. Lee was Napoleon without his ambition, 
 he was Alexander without his pride, he was Welling- 
 ton without Ills opportunity. And when at Appomat- 
 tox the immaculate Christ whispered to the Gallilee 
 of Dixie, '"Peace, be still," he laid aside his broken 
 sword and shattered shield to become the Rugby's 
 ThomaiS Arnold of the South. 
 
 Shepherding at J^exington the youth of the South 
 land, in the great institution which still l)ears his name 
 he gave his declining years to tireless labor and tell- 
 ing sacrifice until at length "he fell in his saint like 
 beauty asleep by the gates of light." 
 
 But he lived to see the embers of that horrible 
 holocaust die, its ashes disappear, and upon its shatter- 
 ed ruins a New South rise, beautiful "as a sea Cybele 
 fresh from ocean." 
 
 —71— 
 
Through the years of liis youth and early man- 
 hcod, he was true to the union, but when its ways and 
 Dixieland 's had parted, he was truer still to the 
 K-outhland, loyal, devoted through her four years war, 
 and the sober peaceful years tliat followed, even to the 
 hour his body lay embedded in roses. 
 
 And as his spirit winged its flight through astral 
 glories, I think he stooped to kiss the Southern Cross. 
 
 In reaching a discussion of the stars of Hendrix 
 College^ 1 realize the futility of an effort at individual 
 comment. It is enough to say that in practically every 
 city and hamlet of the South, some star of Hendrix 
 College is sliining; in resplendent glory. It matters 
 not whetlier his eflorts are spent in public service or 
 private life, he represents a type of sterling manhood, 
 whose station is pitched upon the highest plane. And 
 I feel today, as I speak to the students and alumni of 
 Hendrix College, tliat I address the flower of the cul- 
 ture and knighthood of our state. 
 
 The friends of Hendrix College have always point- 
 ed vrith pardonalile pride to the long and creditable 
 list of eplondid men whose names ap])ear in the bright 
 and lengthening scroll of her alumni. 
 
 The fact that you have met the demands of her 
 exacting curneulum. measuring up to the high and 
 lofty mark of scholarship and manhood she has fixed 
 is evidence of the fact yon have not missed the beauti- 
 ful and eternal message of the stars of historA^: 
 
 —72— 
 
''The heiglits hy great men reached and kept 
 AV'ere not attained by sndden lligbt, 
 But they while their companions slept 
 AVero toiling- upward in the night." 
 
 Theie is a close and kindly tie, a common comrade- 
 ship bcLNYeen the men who met that test, which quite 
 relieves but doubly honors my pleasant duty here to- 
 day. 
 
 The sentiment of that other side of this occasion 
 
 recalls the pleasing verse of Oliver Wendell Holmes 
 
 Avho said: 
 
 "There is no friend like an old friend 
 Who has shared our morning days, 
 No greetings like his welcome, 
 No homage like his praise." 
 
 My heart is sad today when I realize that some 
 of the brightest stars who have ever honored the fair 
 name of our alma mater have passed in peaceful sereni 
 ty and deathless glory out into the impenetrable dark- 
 ness of the long, long night. 
 
 Today, in fond retrospection, as we look down the 
 dim corridors of time, we see again the smiling faces 
 of the scholaily FA. England, the polished John Carr^ 
 ijie genial John Brown, the manly Maude Gleason, and 
 many others wlio have long since passed beyond the 
 echoless strands of that silent river. 
 
 Coming at unexpected hours, the summons from 
 the silent reaper has also reached two of the most ad- 
 mired and brilliant stars of the faculty of Hendrix 
 College. 
 
 Through a golden dream of the days that are 
 
 —73— 
 
gone, illiiniined by such hallowed memories as only 
 tne cireum.staiiet-s of this occasion could recall, we see 
 the affable face and stalwart form of the intellectual 
 George Miller. 
 
 We bear again tlie Ivind and courteous greeting 
 cind feel tlie friendly hand-clasp of the cultured and 
 ] efined Jim TIawley. 
 
 Oil, what a ^\ealth of hallowed recollections are 
 reborn with the sound of his name! 
 
 For within llie wide and sx^acious halls of his 
 great, tln-obbing heart, he caught the fragrance of 
 campus flowers, and the sunshine tliat kindled in their 
 cares?, and brought tliem from campus nooks into 
 the grind of daily toil and into class-room duties. 
 
 His attentive de^'otion to his charming wife was 
 beautiful indeed, and about his life while he lingered 
 jiere, tlio air was as full of sunlight and song as when 
 Miriam sang by tlie sea. 
 
 How oft' at chapel's holy hour have T heard his 
 
 clarion voice ring clear: 
 
 ''On the other side of Jordan 
 In the sweet fields of Tlden 
 Where the tree of life is blooming 
 There is rest for me " 
 
 And as I listened, I seemed to see across the cloud- 
 banked course his song had builded the morning break 
 in celestial glon^ in the land of the crimson dawn. 
 
 Oh how sweet and precious are the blessed memo- 
 ries of that hap])y long ago! 
 
 —74— 
 
Wo realize today that many of our brightest men 
 
 are pas^^iu;^: many of our brilliant stars are fading, and 
 
 that silently with each succeeding year, 
 
 "The stately ships go on 
 
 To their haven under the hill 
 
 Bat Oh for the touch of a vanished hand 
 
 And the sound of a voice that is still." 
 
 But this, my friends, we know today, that so long 
 as friend^iiip's tie shall plight its troth with Cliris- 
 iian faith, 'somehow and somewhere, we shall strike 
 hands with them again in a welcomed homecoming 
 beyond the grave. 
 
 The eloquent Prentice tells us that when the young 
 king of Argus was al)out to yield uj) his life as a sacri 
 fice to fate, his beautiful Clemantha liending above 
 mm asked him to tell her if they should meet again. 
 He said: "I have asked that dreadful question of the 
 hills that look eternal, of the flowing streams that 
 lucid flow forever, of the stars amid whose azure fields 
 )ny raised spirit hath trod in glory, and all were dumb. 
 But now, as I look into thy beautiful face, and see the 
 love and divinity, and immortality that kindle through 
 its beauty, T know that it can never perish; we shall 
 meet again." 
 
 And so we feel that it would be the acme of un- 
 happy fate were there no fair and flowered elysian 
 fields in which the souls of our departed may flourish 
 unhurt "amid the war of elements the wreck of mat- 
 ter, and the crush of worlds." 
 
 But as long as memory lives and keeps her tryst- 
 
 —75— 
 
iiig place witli love, we shall delight on these occasions 
 to loiter again with old friends in tlie sheltering shades 
 and listen again to laughter from lips that are long 
 j-iuoe dust. 
 
 "Oh a wonderful stream is the river time 
 As it runs through the reahn of tears, 
 With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhjane 
 And a houndless sweep and a surge sublime 
 As it ])leuds witli the ocean of years. 
 
 How the winters are drifting like flakes of snow 
 
 And the summers like birds between. 
 
 And the years in the sheaf, as they come and they 
 
 go 
 On the river's breast with its ebb and its flow 
 As it glides in the shadow and sheen. 
 
 There's a magical isle up the river time 
 Where the softest of airs are playing 
 There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime 
 And a song as sweet as a vesper cliime . 
 And the Junes with the roses are straying. 
 
 And the name of that isle is the long ago 
 And we buiy our treasures there 
 There are brows of beauty and bosoms ot snow 
 There are heaps of dust> Oh we loved them so! 
 There are trinkets and tresses of hair. 
 
 Oh remember for aye, be that blessed isle 
 
 All the day of our life until night. 
 
 Wlien the evening comes with its beautiful smile 
 
 And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile 
 
 Mav that greenwood of souls be in sight." 
 
 It is in the sim])le, sincere spirit of this sweet fel- 
 loAvship that we recall today the vanished years and 
 liere conmiemorate the stars of Hendrix College enroll- 
 ed among our honored dead. 
 
 But 1 would not have you think, my friends, that 
 
 —76— 
 
men have a monopol}- on that rare and subtle snbstance 
 tlje world calls genins. While I understand that the 
 best artists of today have decided that all angels are 
 men, yet T think they would readily reach a different 
 conclusion on the question of genius. 
 
 While we have our Caesar and our Cromwell, 
 they have their Joan of Arc and Maid of Saragossa; 
 ^hile wo have our Mozai't and our Mendelssohn, they 
 liave their Nordica and Pattie; while we have our 
 Byron and our Shelley, they have their Browning and 
 lOlliott. 
 
 The poet has said: 
 
 "They talk about a woman's sphere as though it 
 had a limit: 
 
 There's not a place ou Ilarth or in Heaven 
 There's not a task to mankind given, 
 There's not a blessing or a woe, 
 There's not a whispered yes or no, 
 I'here's not a life, or death, or birth, 
 That has a feather's weight of worth, 
 Without a woman in it." 
 
 Why old Antiiony threw the world away for the 
 
 caress of a woman. 
 
 But Byron has said: 
 
 " 'Tis sweet at eve to hear the watch-dog's hon- 
 est bark, 
 
 Bay deep-mouth welcome as we draw near home, 
 
 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our 
 coming. 
 
 And grow brighter when we come." 
 
 WhateA'er may have been the achievements of 
 American women on tented field or forum, T believe 
 +hat the star of woman's greatnes^s shines brightest in 
 the home. 
 
 "She made home happy-these few words 1 read 
 
Within a churelivard 'graven on a stone. 
 
 No name, no date: the simple words alone 
 
 Told me the story of the nnknown dead. 
 
 A marble column lifted hi^h its head 
 
 Close hv. inscribed to one the world has known, 
 
 But alas, thai lonely grave with moss o'ergrown 
 
 Thrilled me far more than his who armies led! 
 
 'She made home happy.' Throngh the long sa^d 
 
 years. 
 The mother toiled and never stopped to rest 
 Until they crossed her hands npon her breast 
 And closed her eves, no lonc:er dim with tears. 
 The «imple record that she left behind 
 Was grander than the soldier's to my mind." 
 
 And when impai'tial history shall chronicle the 
 achievements of .American women, T had rather it be 
 written of them that they were true to home uiitil love's 
 sweet scented manuscript had closed than that they 
 j»ossessed the beauties of the Oreecian Helen or the 
 charms of Eg>q>tian Cleopatra. 
 
 But whatever our destined lots in life may be, we 
 
 join the poet todav who said: 
 
 *" Yc <5tars which are the poetry of heaven, 
 If in your bright leaves, we can read the fate of 
 men and em]>ires, 
 
 'Tis to be forgiven, that in onr as])irations to be 
 
 gieat. 
 Onr destinies o'erleap their mortal state, 
 And claim a kindred with yon. 
 For ye are a beanty and a mystery, 
 And create in ns snch love and reverence from 
 
 afar. 
 That fortune, fame, power, life 
 Hath named themselves a star." 
 
 And so, young men and young ladies, you have 
 to day, my hope, my wish, my prayer, that your lives 
 may shine with the same beauty, transcendent splen- 
 dor, and glory, as the stars, in Heaven. 
 
 —78— 
 
LlBRftR^ 
 
 OF CONGRESS 
 
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