The Valley Virginian. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1865-1895, 1882-01-19
NO Al
Pagan Eloouence,

In q remote corner of the Congressional
Cemetery at Washington, on Sunday last, 8
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 formers bright little
son Harry, recent victim of dIphtheria As
the casket rested upon the trestles, there was
painful pause, broke only by the mothers
sobs, until the undertaken advanced toward
stout, horid complexioned gentleman in the
party and whispered to him, the words being
inaudible to the lookers-on This gentleman
was Col Robert g. lngersoll friend of the
Millers, who attended the funeral at their re
quest. He shock his head when the under
tsker first addressed him, and then said sud
denly Does Mr.. Miller desire il ~ The I'M
dertaker gave an affirmative nod Mr. Miller
looked appealingly toward the noted orator,
and then hastily Col. Ingersol advanced to the
side of the grave, made motion denoting a
desire for silence, and in voice of exquisite
cadence delivered one OF his characteristic eu-
legies for the dead. The scene was intensely
dramatic A fine drilling rain was falling.
and every head was bent and every ear turned
to catch the impassioned words of eloquenee
and hope, that fell from the lips of the dis
tinguished speaker. Col. Ingersol was I'M
protected by either hat or umbrella, aud his
invocation thrilled his hearers with awe esch
eye that had previously been bedimmed with
tears Frightening, and sobs becoming hushed
Col Ingersoll said:
Ny FRIENDS Il know bow vain it is to
gid grief with words, and vet wish to take
from every grave its fear Here in this world
where life and death are equal kings allshould
be brave enough to meet what all the dead
have met. The future has been filled with
fear. stained and polluted by the heartless past,
From the wondrous tree of life the buds and
blossoms fall with ripening fruit, and in the
common bed of earth the patrarchs and babes
sleep side by side
Why should we fear that which will come
to all that is? We cannot tell, we do not
know, which is the greater blessing-life or
death. We cannot say that death is not
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
dawn. Neither can we tell which is the
more fortunate-the child dying in its moth
er's arms, before its lips have learned to form
word, or he who journeys all the length of
lites uneven road painfully taking the last slow
steps with staff and crutch
Every cradle asks us ''W hence q and every
coffin, Whittier ?" The poor barbarian, weep
ing above his dead can answer these questions
as intelligently and satisfactory as the rObed
priest OF the most authentic creed. The tear
mi ignorance OF the one is Just consong 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 prophesy
a future filled with pain and tears. 1t may be
that death gives all there is of worth to life
i these we press and strain against our hearts
could never die, perhaps that love would with
er from the earth May be this common fate
treads from out the paths between cur hearts
the weeds of selfshness and hate, and | had
rather live and love where death is king than
have eternal lite where love is not. Another
life is nought unless we know and love again
the ones who loye us here.
They who stand with breaking hearts around
his little grave, need have no fear. The larger
and the nObler 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 com
mon wants of life-the needs and duties of each
grief will lesson day by day, until
1t last this grave will be to them place of
rest and peace-almost of JOY. There is for
them this consolation The dead do not suffer
II 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
lwalts us all We, too have our religion, and
t is this: Help for the living-Hope for the
lead
At the conclusion of Col Ingersols re-
marks, the little coffin, covered with beautiful
md fragrant flowers, was lowered into its last
-esting place by the .pal-bearers Detectives
scElfresh, Voss and Coombs and Mr. John
Sergeant