Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1882-01-26
The Mystery Of Death.
A FUNERAL ADDRESS BY ROBERT @. NIGER
SOIL.
From the Washington Post. !

From the Washington Post.
In a remote corner Of the Congressional
Cemetery Yesterday afternoon, a small group
of people with uncovered heads ranged
around new opened grave. They includ-
ed Detective and Mrs. g. o. Miller, and
family and friends, who had gathered to
witness the burial of the formers bright
little son Harry. As the casket rested up
on the trestles, there was a painful pause,
broken only BY the mothers sobs, until the
undertaken advanced toward a stout, forid-
complexloned gentleman in the party and
whispered to him. This gentleman was
Col. Robert G. lngersoll a friend Of the
Millers, who attended the funeral at their
request He shook his head when the uu-
dertaker first addressed him, and then said
suddenly: docs Mr. Miller desire it ?"
The undertaken gave an affirmative nod, Mr..
Miller looked appealingly toward the noted
orator, and then hastily Col. Ingersoll adj
vanced TO the side Of the grave, made mo-
ton denotlng 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
imprisoned words that fell from the lips of
the speaker. Col. lngersoll was unprotsct-
ed by either hat or umbrella, and his invo-
cation thrilled his hearers with awe, each
eye that had previously been bedimmed
with tears Frightening, and sobs becoming
hu,hed Col Ingersoll said
My FRIENDS: | know how vain it is to
gid grief with words, and yet, | wish to
take from every grave its fear Here in
1 this world, while 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 pollut-
/ ed BY the heartess past. From the won
/ drous tree of life the buds and blossom.
| fall with ripened fruit, and in the common
bed Of earth the patriarchs and babes sleep
side by 5 de.
| Why should We fear that which will come
I to all that is We cannot tell, We do not
/ know. which is the greater blessing 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 diving in is moth
cr's arms before its lip, have learned to
form a word, or he who journeys all the
length Of llte's uneven road, painfully taking
the last slow step. with staff and crutch.
Every cradle asks US Whence ?" and
every coffin Whittier ?" The poor barba-
ran, weeping above his dead, can answer
these questions intellgently and salts
factorily as the robed priest Of the most
authentic creed The tearfnl ignorance OF
one is just as con,oling a. the learned and
unmcaulng words Of the other. No man.
standing where the horizon of a life has
touched u grave, has any right to prophecy
future filled with pain and tears. 1t may
I be that arath gives all there Is Of worth to
life. Ii those, We press and strain against
our heart, could never die. perhaps that
. love would wlthcr from the earth. NAV be
this common fate treads from out the paths
between our hearts the weeds of seIfshness
aud hate. and ! had rather live and love
wucrr death is KING, than nave eternal life
where love Is not. Another life is naught,
uulc~, We know and love again the ones
who love us here.
/ The, who stand with breaking heart,
I around tins little grave need have no fear.
I Ihe larger and the nobler faith in all that is
and Is to be tells Us that death, even at It's
worst, Is only perfect rest We know that
through the common wants of llte-the
needs and duties Of each hour-thelr grief
will lesson day by day, until at last this
grave Will be u them place Of rest and
I peace-almost Of JOY. There is for them
/ this consolation The dead do not suffer.
I Ii they live again, their lives will surely be
/ a. 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
4 our religion, and il is this: Help for the
I living-Hope for the dead
At the conclusion Of Col. IngersolPs re
marks. the little coffin. covered with beauti-
/ ful and fragrant flowers, was lowered into
4 it, resting place