Public ledger. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1865-1893, 1882-01-13
AN INFANTS
Address ut the Grave,::by Colonel
Robert g, IngersOll.
washington Special to Chicago Tines

HNeAAAbNSA RFNSANA CuiChkO llmbhsl
lie a remote corner of the Congress.
sional cemetery, this afternoon, "a small
group Of people, with uncovered heads,
were ranged around a newly opened
grave. They included Detective and
Mrs. j. O.. Miller and family and
friends, who had gathered to witness
the burial Of the formers bright little
son, Harry, a recent victim of diph-
liberia. AS the casket rested upon
the trestle there was a painful pause,
broken only by the mothers sobs,
until the undertaken advanced toward
a stout, horid comnlexioned gentle-
man in the party, and whispered to
him, the words being inaudible to the
lockers on. This gentleman wa Colo.
mel Robert G. Ingersoll, a friend of.
the Miliers, who had attended
the funeral at their request.
He shook his head when the
undertaken first addressed him, and
then said suddenly: docs Mrs. Miller
desire it?" The undertaken gave an
affirmative nod. Mr. Miller looked
a~ppealingly toward the distinguished
orator, and hen Col. Ingersoll ad-
vanced to the side of the grave. made
a motion denoting a desire for silence,
and in a voice Of exquisite cadence,
delivered one Of his characteristic
eulogies for the dead. The scene was
intensely dramatic A fine, drizzling
rain was falling, and every head was
bent and every ear turned to catch the
impassioned words of eloquence and
hope that fell from the lips OF the
famed orator. Col. Ingersoll was un-
protected by either hat or umbrella,
and his invocation thrilled his hearers |
with awe, each eye that had previously
been bedimmed with tears Frightening
and sobs becoming hushed.
THE COLONEL SAID:
Ny friends: / know how vain it is to
gid a grief with words, and yet | wish
to take from every grave its fear.
H ere in this life, 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 polluted by the
heartless past. From the wondrous
trees of life the buds and blossoms fall
with ripened fruit, and in the common
bed of earth patriarchs and babes
sleep side by side. Why should we
fear that which will come to all that
is9 We cannot tell. We do not know
which is the greatest blessing, life or
death. We cannot say that death is
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 not somewhere else a dawn.
Neither can we tell which is the more
fortunate-the child dying in its
mothers arms, before its lips have
learned to form a word, or he who
journeys all the length Of life's uneven
road, painfully taking the last slow
steps with staf and crutch.
Every cradle asks us "whence?"
and every coffin "whither?" The poor
barbarian weeping above his dead can
answer the questions as intelligently
and satisfactorily as the robed priest
of the most authentic creed. The
fearful ignorance Of the one is Just as
consoling as the learned and unmean-
ing words of the other. No man
standing where the horizon of a life
has touched a grave has any right to
propheSy a future filled with pain and
tears. 1t may be that death gives all
there is Of worth to life. If those we
press and strain against our hearts
could never die, perhaps that love
would wither from the earth. Maybe
a common faith treads from out the
paths between our hearts the weeds of
selishness and hate, and | should
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
love US here.
They who stand with breaking
hearts around this little grave need
have no fear. The large and the
noble faith in all that is, and is to be,
tells us that death even at its worst is
only perfect rest. We know that
through the common wants of life.
needs and duties of each hour-their
grief will lessen day by day, until at
last this grave will be TO them a 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 be surely 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 reli-
gion and it is this: Help for the liv-
ing, hope for the dead.