Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1882-01-30
Misrtllanfous.
An Eloquent Heather.


Col. INGERsoLL's FUNERAL Address AT
THE GRAVE or LITTLE CHILD.
In a remote corner of the Congressional
Cemetery one Monday afternoon, small
group OF people with uncovered heads
ranged around a newly opened grave.
They included Detective and Mrs George
o. Miller. and family and friends. who had
gathered to witness the burial Of the form
er's bright little son Harry.
As the casket rested upon the trestles,
there was a painful pause broken only By
the mothers sobs, until the undertaken adj
vanced toward a stout, fiorid-complex-
Toned gentleman 10 the party. and whis-
pered to him. This gentleman was Col.
Robert e.. Ingersoll. friend of the Mil
lers, who attended the funeral at their re-
quest. He shook his head when the I'M
dertaker first addressed him. and then
said suddenly: Does Mr.. Miller desire
il ~
The undertaken gave an affirmative nod.
Mr.. Miller looked appeaiingly toward the
noted orator and then hastily Colonel In
gersoil advanced TO the side of the grave.
made motion denoting a desire for 81
lence. and in voice Of exquisite cadence.
delivered one OF his characteristic eulogies
for the dead.
The scene was intensely dramatic 4
fine, drilling rain was falling, and every
ear turned tn catch the impassioned
words that fell from the lips of the speak
er. Col. ingersoll was unprotected BY
either hat or umbrella. and his invocation
thrilled his hearers with awe. each eve
that had previously been bedimmed with
tears Frightening and sobs becoming
hushed. Col. IngersolI said:
My friends-I know how vain it is to
gid grief with words. aud vet wish to
take from every grave its fear. Here in
this world, where life and death are equal
kings, all should be brave enough to meet
what all the dead have met. The future
has been filed with fear. stained and pol
lutcd by the hcartless past. From the
wondrous tree Of life the buds and bios
SONS fall with ripened fruit and in the
common bed Of earth the patrarchs and
babes sleep side ty side.
Why should we fear that which will
come to all that is ? We cannot tell, we
do not know, which * the greater bless
ng-liie or death We cannot say that
death il not a good. We do not know
whether the grave is the end of this life or
the door Of another. or whether the night
here Is IT somewhere else "a dawn.
Neither can we tell which is the more
fortunate-the child diving in its mothers
arms before its lips have learned to form
u word, or he who Journeys all the length
of life's uneven road. painfully taking the
last slow steps with staff and crutch.
Every cradle asks us Nv hence?n and
every coffin "Whither?" The poor bar
barian, weeping above his dead. can an
swer these questions rs intelligcntlv and
satisfactorily rs the ROBBED priest of the
most authentic creed The fearful igno-
rance OF the one is just as consoling rs the
learned and unmeaning words of the
other.
No man. standing where the horizon OF
life has touched a grave, has any right
TO proPhesy future filled with pain and
tears. 1t may be- that death gives all
there Is of worth to life II those we press
and strain against our hearts could never
die. perhaps that love would wither from
the earth. May he this common fate treads
from out the paths between our hearts the
weeds OF seliishness and hate, and had
rather live and love where death is king,
than have eternal life where love is not.
Another life is naught. unlcss we know
ana loVe again tAe ones who love us here.
They who stand with breaking hearts
around this little grave need have no fear.
The larger and the noblcr faith in all that
is and is to be tells AIS that death, even at
its worst, is only perfect rest. We know
that through the common wants of life
the needs and duties of each hour-their
grief will lessen day by dav. until at last
this grave will be to them place of rest
and peace-amost OF joy. There is for
them this consolation The dead do not
suffer. II they live again. their lives will
surely be rs good rs ours. We have no
fear. We are all children of the same
mother. and the same fate awaits us all
We, too. have our religion, and il is this
Help for the liviug-llope for the dead.
Washington Post.
IL YOU are bilious. take DR. Pierce, pleas