Nebraska advertiser., 1882-01-26
NEBRASKA ADVERTISER
AN ELOQUENT GRAFTON.
Col. Ingersoll,s Tribute at the Grave Of a
Friends 0hild.
special 10 The Giobc- Democrat


Special 10 the Globe Democrat
WASHNGToN. ID. c., Jan. s.. In a re-
mote corner of the Congressional GENE
terry, this afternoon, a small group Of
people with uncovered heads were ar
ranged around "A newly opened grave.
They included Detective aud Mrs Geo.
A. Miller and friends, who had gather
cd to witness the burial Of the formers
bright little son, Harry. As the coffin
rested upon the trestles there was
painful pause, broken only by the
mothers sobs until the undertaken adj
vanced toward a stout, llorid complex
ioned gentleman in the party and whis-
pered to him, the words being inaudible
To the lookerson. This gentleman was
Col. Robert &. Ingersoll, friend Of the
Millers, who attended the funeral at
their request. He then shook his head
and said. Does Mr.. Miller desire ii ?"
The undertaken gave the affirmative
nod, Mr.. Miller looked toward the noted
orator, aud then hastily Col Ingersoll
advanced to the side of the grave and
made one Of his
CHARACTERISTIC EUL0GIES
for the dead. He stood unprotected
from the driZzling rain, and said: "My
friends, | know how vain il is to gild
grief with words, and yet, | wish to
take from every grave its fear. Here
in this world, where life and death are
equal kings. all should he brave enough
to meet what all the dead have met.
The future has been filed with fear,
stained and polluted with the heartless
past. From the wondrous tree of life.
the buds and blossoms fall with ripen-
eel fruit. and in the common bed of
earth the patriarchs and babies sleep
side by side. Why should we fear that
which will come to all that is? We
can not tell We do not know which
is the greater blessing life or death.
We can not 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 the mothers. arms
befOie its lips have learned to form a
word, or he who journeys Ill the length
of
LIES UNEVEN ROAD,
painfully taking the last slow steps
with staff and crutch. Every cradle
asks us. "Whencey" and every coffin,
"WhitherY The poor barbarian.
weeping above his dead. can answer
these questions rs intellgently and sat
isfactorily rs the robed priest of
the most authentic creed. The fearful
ignorance of the one il Just as good rs
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 fill
ed with pain and tears. II may be that
death gives all there is of worth to life.
IL those we press and 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 seliishness and hate. and had rath-
er live and love where death is king,
than have eternal life where love il 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 larger and nobler faith i'm 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 life, the
needs and duties of each hour, their
grief will lessen day by day until mt last
these griefs will be to them place of
rest and peace, almost 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 re-
llgion, and it is this: Help for the
living. hope for the dead"
AT the conclusion of the eloquent
oration the little coffin was deposited in
the last resting place covered with
flowers.