The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-09-04

/
ture = by Humboldt and Oar
win, by Huxley and Heckel. Within
! the narrow compass OF his life the world
was changed. The railway. the steam
/ ship, the telegraph made all nations
| neighbors Countless inventions have
made the Injuries of the past the neces-
sites of to-day. Life has been enriched
and man ennobled. The geologist has
read the records of frost and flame, OF
wind and rain the astronomer has told
the story of the stars; the biologist has
| sought the germ of life, and in every de-
| partment of knowledge the torch of
| science sheds its sacred light. The ancient
creeds have grown absurd; the miracles
are small and mean; the inspired book is
| filled with fables told to please a childish
world, and the dogma OF eternal pain now
| shocks the heart and brain.
| He lived to see a monument unveiled to
/ Bruno in the city of Rome-tO Giordano
Bruno, that great man who $50 years ago
suffered death by fire for having pro-
| claimed the truths that since have filed
! the world with Joy. He lived to see the
4 victim of the church a victor-lived to see
his memory honored by nation freed
| from papal chains.
He worked knowing what the end must
/ be, expecting little while he lived, but he
knew that every fact in the wide universe
was on his side. He knew that truth can
wait, and so he worked, patient as eter-
nifty. He had the brain of philosopher
and the heart of child.
Horace Seaver was a man of common
sense. By that | mean one who knows
the law of average. He denied the bible,
not on account of what has been discov-
cred in astronomy, the length of time it
took to form the delta Of the Nile, but he
compared the things he found in the in
spired book with what he knew He
knew that antiquity added nothing to
probabilIty-that lapse of time can never
take the place OF cause, and that the dust
can never gather thick enough upon mis-
takes to make them equal with the truth.
He knew that the old by no possibility
could have been more wonderful than the
new. and that the present is a perpetual
torch by which we know the past. To
him all miracles were mistakes
whose parents were cunning and
| credulity. He knew that miracles
were not because they were not. He be-
| lieved in the sublime, unbroken and eter-
nal march of causes and effects, denying
the chaos of chance and the caprice OF
power. He tested the past by the now,
and Judged of all the men and graces of
in the religion of freethought and good
deeds, of character, of sincerity, of honest
endeavor, OF cheerful hope, of sympathy,
| and also in the religion of love and lib
erty-a religion for every day, for the
world in which we live, for the present,
the religion of roof and raiment, OF food,
of intelligence, of intellectual hospitality;
the religion that gives health and happi-
ness, freedom and content; in the religion
of work and in the economies of honest
labor. He lived for this world; if there
be another he will live for that.
He did what he could for the destruc-
ton of fear, destruction of the imaginary
monster who rewards the few in heaven;
the monster who tortures the many in
perdition. He was the friend of all the
world, and sought to civilize the human
race.
For more than fifty years he labored to
free the bodies and souls of men, and
many thousands have read his words with
joy. He sought the suffering and OPP
pressed. He sat by those in pain, and his
hand, was laid in pity on the brow of
death. He asked only to be treated as be
treated others. He asked for only what
he earned, and he had the manhood to
cheerfully accept the consequences of his
actions. He expected no reward for the
goodness of another.
But he has lived his life. We should
shed no tears except the tears of gratitude.
We should rejoice that he lived so long.
In natures course his time had come. The
four seasons were complete in him. The
spring could never cone again. He had
taken LIES seven steps. The measure of
his years was full. When the day is
done, when the work of life is finished,
when the gold of evening meets the dusk
of night, beneath the silent stars the tired
laborer should fall asleep. To outlive
| usefulness is a double death. LET me
not live after my flame lacks oil, to be the
snuff of younger spirits" When the old
oak is visited in vain by spring, when light
and rain no longer thrill, il is not we'll to
stand leafess, desolate, and alone. 1t
is better far to fall where nature softly
covers all with woven moss and creeping
vine
How little, after all, we know Of what is
| i'll or well-how little of this wonderous
stream of cataracts and pools, this stream
of life that rises in a world unknown and
follows to that mysterious stream whose
shore the foot of one who comes bath
never pressed. How little of this life we
know; this struggling way of light twixt
gloom and gloom this strip of land by
verdure clad between the unknown
wastes; this throbbing moment filled with
| love and pain; this dream that lies be-
tween the shadowy shores OF sleep and
death. We stand upon this verge of
! crumbiing time. We love, we hope, we
disappear. Again we mingle with the
dust, and the "knot intrinsecate" forever
| falls apart.
But this we know-a noble life enriches
all the world. Horace Seaver lived tor
others. He accepted toll and hope de-
/ ferred. Poverty was his portion. Like
| Socrates, he did not seek to adorn his
body, but rather his soul with the jewels
of charity, modesty, courage, and above
all, with love of liberty.
Farewell, o brave and modest man !;
your lips between which truth burst into
blossoms, are forever closed. Your loving
| heart has ceased to beat. Your busy
| brain is still. and from your hand has
dropped the sacred torch. Your noble,
self-denying life has honored us, and we
| will honor you. You were my friend and
I was yours. Above your silent clay l
pay this tribute to your worth. Farewell.
Profuse flowers covered the casket. Col.
! Ingersoll followed it to the grave. and ut
| tered the simple word Goodbye" as the
casket was lowed into the tomb.
His Grievance.
Boston Postl
"Why are you so bitter toward her? Did she