The new North-west., 1883-04-27
POPE ROBERT.
Tho Great UnbeIiever Blows a Pretty
Mass of Soap Bubbles over the Grave
OF IA Friend.

The following is the address of Col. Rob-
ert G. Ingersoll, delivered at the grave of
John G. Mills, In Washington recently:
Again we are face to face with the great
mystery that shrouds this world. We ques
tion, but there is no reply. Out on the wide
crest of white seas there drifts no spar
Over the desert cf death the sphinx gazes
for ever, but never speaks. In the very May
of life another heart has ceased to beat.
Night has fallen upon noon; hut he lived, he
loved, and lie was loved. Wife and children
pressed their kisses on his lips. This is
enough. The longest life contains no more.
This fills the vase of joy. He who lies here
clothed with the perfect peace Of death was
kind and loving husband, good father, a
generous neighbor aud honest man, and
these words build monument Of glory
above the humblest grave. He wds always
a child, sincere and frank, as full Of hope as
spring. He divided all time into to-day and
TO- morrow. To morrow was without a
cloud, and of Tomorrow he borrowed sun
shine for TO day. He was my friend. He
will remain so. The living often become
estranged-the dead are true. He was not
a Christian. In the Eden Of his hope there
did not crawl and coil the serpent Of eternal
pain. In many languages he sought the
thoughts of men, and for himself he solved
the problems of the world. He accepted the
philosophy of Auguste Comte. Humanity
was his God; the human race the SUPP eme
Being In that Supreme Being he rested
He believed we are indebted for what we enjoy
to the LABOR, the self denial, the heroism OF.
the human race; aud, as We have plucked
the fruits of what Others have planted, we
in thankfulness should plant for others yet TO
he. With him, Immortality was the eternal
consequence OF his own good acts. lie be-
Iieved that every good thought, every drsia-
terested deed, hastens the harvest of univer-
sal good. This is religion that enriches
poverty, that enables us TO bear the sore
hearts of the saddest life, that peoples even
solitude with the happy millions yet to be; a
religion not born of sefishness and fear, but
of love and hope; the religion that digs wells
to slake the thirst of others, that gladly bears
the burdens of the unborn. In the presence
of death how beliefs and dogmas wither and
dry. How loving words aud deeds burst in
to blossom! Pluck from the tree of any life
these flowers, and there remain but the bar
rem thorns of bigotry and creed. All wish
for happiness beyond this life. All hope to
meet again the loved and lost. In every
heart there grows this sacred flower of etern-
al hope. Immortality is word that hope
through all the ages has been whisperingt to
love. The miracle of thought we cannot
comprehend. The chaos we call the world,
has never been explained The mystery of
death and hope we cannot comprehend. The
golden bridge of life from gloom emerges
and on shadow rests. Beyond this we do
not know. Fate is speechiess, destiny IL
dumb, and the secret Of the future has never
been told. We love, we wait, we hope.
The more we love the more we fear. Upon
The tenderest, shadows fall; all paths, wheth-
"r filed with thorns or flowers, end here.
Here success and failure are the same. The
rags of wretcheduess and the purple robes f
power lose difference and distinction In this
democracy of death. Character alone sur
wives. Goodness alone lives. Love Is alone
immortal. But to all there comes a time
when the fevered lips of life long for the cool
| delicious kiss of death. Tired with the dust
and glare of day, We hear with joy the rust
ing garments Of the night. What can we say
Of death ? Wha, can we say of the dead?
Where they have gone reason cannot 60, and
from thence revelation has not come. But
let us believe that over the cradle nature
bends and smiles, and lovingly above the
dead In benedction holds her outstret, he'd
! hands,