Claiborne guardian. [volume] (Homer, La.) 1877-188?, 1882-02-01
An ELOQUENT Grafton.

Globe Democrat gives the follow.
lug report Of an address delivered
by Col. Bob Ingersoll at the grave
OF the child of q friend. The senti.
menis expressed have been cri,iciz-
ell By the press, but the address is
al eloquent one nevertheless:
In . remote corner vi the Con.
gressiOnal Cemetery, this afternoon,
n small group Of people with nm.
covered heads were arranged around
a newly opened grave. They in-
cludel Detective and Mrs. George
A. Miller and friends. Who had
gathered to witness the burial of
the formerly bright little don, Har.
~. AS the coffin rested upon the
treaties there was u painful pause
broken only By the mothers sobs,
until the undertaken advanced
toward a stout, ford. compIexiOned
gentleman in the party and whisper.
ed 10 him, the words being inaudi.
bic to the lockers on. This gentle.
man WAS Col. Robert q. ingersolt, n
friend of the Millers, who attended
the funeral ut their request. He
then shook his head aud said,
"D0es Mr.. Miller desire III"
The undertaken gave an afirma-
tive nod, Mr.. Miller looked toward
the noted orator, and then hastily
Colonel lngersoll advanced to the
side of the grave and made one Of
his characteristic eulogies for the
dead. lie stood unprotected from
the drizzling rain, and said, any
friends, know how vain it is to
gild grief with words, and yet.
wish to take from every grave it's
fear. Here in this 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 filled with tear,
stained, and polluted by the heart
less past. From the wopdrous 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 tbisf We cannot tell. We
do not know which is the greater
blessiBg-life or death. We cal mot
say that death is not a good; We do
not know whether the grave ia the
end Of this life or the door of an.
other, or whether the night here in
not somewhere else a dawn. Neither
can We tell which is the more fortu-
nate, the child dying in it's mothers
arms, before its lips have learned to
form word, or he who journeys all
the length of life's uneven road,
painfully taking the last slow steps
with staff and crutch. Every cradle
asks us, "Whence!" aud every
coffin, "Whither!" The poor barba.
rian, weeping above his dead, can
answer these questions as intelli.
gently and satisfactorily as the
robed priests OF the most authentic
creed. The fearful ignorance of the
one is just IA good rs the learned
and umeaning words Of the other.
No man standing where the horizon
OF life has touched u grave, has
any right TO prophesy future tiiied
with pain and tears. 1t may he
that death gives all there ~ of worth
to life. If those we press and strain
against our hearts could neSer die,
perhaps that love would wither
from the earth. May he this con-.
mon fate treads from out the paths
between our hearts the weeds OF
sel6shness and hate, and l had
rniber live and love where death 10
king, than have eternal life where
love IL not. Another life is pangft,
unless we know and love again the
ones who love rs here.
They who stand with breaking
hearts around this little grave need
have no fear. The larger and the
noble faith in all that il, aud is to
be, tells us that death, even at it's
worst, is only perfect rest. We
know that through the common
wants of lite, the needs and duties
Of each hour, their grief will lessen
day by day until at last these graves
will be to them place Of rest
aud 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, aud IL is this:
"Halp for the living, hope for the
dead.n
AT the conclusion OF the eloquent
Grafton the little coffin WAS deposit
ed in it's resting place covered with
fowprs