The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1888-05-19

Courage OF Mr.. Conkiing EIOquently Set
Forth-An Estimate of the Dead States
mans Worth Drawn by IA Friend.
ALBANY, May o-Roscoe Conklng' S
birthplace tonight paid most glowing
tribute to the memory of the great
patriot and statesman. The Academy
OF Music, the largest building in the
city, was packed an hour before the
time for the beginning of the memorial
services arranged in his honor. Nearly
four thousand admirers, and IN some
instances close friends of the Senator,
squeezed into the building, jammed pit,
galleries and stage, and long before 8
O'Clock the crush was so tremendous
that the doors were closed and fully
three thousand were turned away.
In ihe course of his eulogy Colonel
Ingersoll SAID:
Roscoe Conkling-a great man, an
orator, a statesman, a lawyer, dis
tinguished citizen of the Republic, IL
the zenith of his fame and power has
reached his journeys end and we are
met, here in the city of his birth, to pay
our tribute to his worth and work. He
earned and held a proud position III
the public thought. He stood for in
dependence, for courage, and above al
for absolute integrity, and his name was
known and honCred by many millions
OF his fellow-men.
The literature of many lands is rich
with the tributes that gratitude, admira
ton and love have paid to the great
and honored dead. These tributes
disclose the character of nations, the
ideals of the human race. In them we
find the estimates Of sreatness-the
deeds and lives that challenged praise
and thrilled the hearts of men.
In the presence of death, the good
man judges as he would be judged. He
knows that men are only fragments
that the greatest walk in shadow, and
that faults and failures mingle with the
lives. of all.
In the grave should be buried the
prejudices and passions born of conflict
Charity should hold the scales in which
are weighed the deeds of men. PeCu-
liaritles, traits born of locality and sur
roundings-these are but the dust ot
the race-these are accidents, drapery
clothes, fashions, that have nothing tc
do with the man except to hide his
character. They are the clouds that
cling to mountains. Time gives us
clearer vision. That which was merely
local fades away. The words of envy
are forgotten, and all there is OF sterling
worth remains. He who was called q
partisan is patriot The revolutionls1
and the outlaw are the founders of ma.
tions, and he who was regarded as q
schemlng, selfish politician becomes g
statesman, philosopher, whose words
and deeds shed light.
Fortunate is that nation great enough
to know the great. When a great mar
dies-one who has nobly fought the
battle of life, who has been faithful tc
every trust, and has uttered his highest
noblest thought-one who has stooc
proudly by the right in spite of ieer anc
taunt, neither stopped by foe nor swervec
by friend-in honoring him, in speaking
words of praise and love above his dust
we pay a tribute to ourselves.
How poor this world would be with,
out the memories of its mighty dead
Only the voiceless speak forever.
Intelligence, integrity and courage
are the great pillars that support the
State.
Above all, the citizens of free ma,
ton should honor the brave and inde
pendent man-the man of stainless in
tegrity, of will and intellectual force
Such men are the Aliases on whose
mighty shoulders rest the great fabric
of the Republic. Flatterers, cringers
crawlers, timeservers are the dangerou:
citizens of democracy. They who
gain applause and power by pandering
to the mistakes, the prejudices and pas,
sions of the multitude are the enemies
of liberty.
When the intelligent submit to the
clamor of the many, anarchy begins
and the Republic reaches the edge oi
chaos. Mediocrity, touched with am
bition, hatters tie base and calumniates
the great, while the true patriot, who
will do neither, is often sacrificed.
In government of the people q
leader should be teacher-he should
carry the torch of truth.
Most people are the slaves of habit
followers of believers in the
wisdom of the past--and were it no,
for brave and splendid souls, "the dust
Of antique time would lie unswept, and
mountainous error be too highly heaped
for truth to overpower." Custom is a
prison, locked and barred by those who
long ago were dust, the keys of which
are in the keeping of the dead.
Nothing is grander than when a
strong, intrepid man breaks chains.
levels walls and breasts the many headed
mob like some great cliff that meets and
mocks the innumerable billows of the
sea.
The politician hastens to agree with
the majority-insists that their prejudice
is patriotism, that their ignorance is
wisdom-not that he loves them, but
because he loves himself. The states
man, the real reformer, points out the
mistakes of the multitude, attacks the