The Weekly Kansas chief. [volume] (Troy, Kan.) 1872-1918, 1882-11-02
AN ELOQUENT GRAFTON.
CslsneI IngersslI,s Tribuse at the Grave Of q
Friends Child.

In a remote corner of the Congregational Gem
etery at Washington, small group of people,
with uncovered heads, were arranged around a
newly opened grave. They included Detective
and Mrs. George A. Miller and friends, whs had
gathered to witness the burial of the formerly
bright little son, Harry. As the coffin rested
upon the trestles, there was painful pause
broken only by the mothers sobs, until the I'M
dertaker advanced toward stout, ford COM
plexioned gentleman in the party, and whis-
pered to him, the words being inaudible to the
lockers on. This gentleman was Colonel Robert
G. Ingersoll, a friend of the Millers who at
tended the funeral at their request. He then
shook his head, and said:
'.Does Mr.. Miller desire itf
The undertaken gave an affirmative nod Mr.
Miller looked toward the noted orator, and then
Colonel Ingersoll hastily advanced to the side
of the grave, and made one of his characteristic
eulogies for the dead. He stood unprotected
from the drizzling rain, and said:
'.My friends, you know how vain it is to gild
grief with words, and yet, l wish to take from
every grave its fears. Here in tine 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 fears
stained and polluted by the heartless past
From the wondrous tree Of life, the buds and
blossoms fall with ripened fruit and in the COM
mon bed of earth the patriarchs and babies
sleep side by side. Why should We fear that
which will come to all that isi We can not
!
blessing-life death. We can not say that
death is not as good; do not know whether
the grave is the end of this life OF the door of
another, OF whether this nj ht here is not some
where else at dawn. Neither can We tell which
is the more fortunate; the child dying in its
mothers arms, before its lips have learned to
form word, OF he who journeys all the length
of ife's uneven road, painfully taking the last
slow steps with staff and crutch. Every cradle
asks us, Whence and every coffin, Whittier 2
can answer as intelligently and satisfactorily as
the ROBBED priest of the most authentic creed
The fearful Ignorance of the one is Just as good
as the learned and unmeaning words of the
other. No man standing where the horizon of a
life has touched grave, has any right to proph-
esy future filled with pain and tears. 1t may
he that death gives all there is of worth to life.
If those we press aud strain against our hearts
could never die, perhaps that love would wither
from the earth. May be this common fate treads
from out the paths between our hearts the weeds
of selfshness and hate, and had rather live
and love where death is king, than have eternal
life where love is not. Another life is naught.
unless We know and love again the ones who
loyed us here.
"They who stand with breaking hearts around
this little grave, need have no fear The larger
and the nobler faith in all that is and is to be,
tells that death, even at its worst, is only
perfect rest. We know that through the com
mon wants of life, the needs and duties of each
hour, their grief will lessen day by day, until at
last these graves will be place of rest and
peace-almOst of joy. There is for them this
consolation: the dead do not suffer. If they
live again, their lives will surely be as good as
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 it is this
Help for the living, hope for the dead"
At the conclusion of the eloquent grafton, the
little coffin was deposited in its last resting
place, covered with flowers.