The weekly intelligencer. [volume] (Lexington, Mo.) 1891-1901, 1892-04-09
Colonel Ingersoll,s Eulogy.

OlOHei lHgefS0liS EulOgy.
"Again we, in the mystery OF life,
are brought face to face with the mys-
terry of death. A great man, great
American-the most eminent citizen
of this Republics dead before us.
And we have met to pay tribute ts
his greatness and to his worth. His
fame is secure. He laid the founda-
tions of it deep in the human heart.
lie was above all that ! have known
the poet of humanity, of sympathy.
Great he was-so great that he rose
above the greatness that he met with
ont arrogance; and so great that he
stopped TO the lowest without conscious
condescension. He never claimed to
be lower or greater than any other of
the sons of men. He came into our
generation n free, untrammelled spirit
with sympathy for all. His arm was
beneath the form of the sick. He sym
pathized with the imprisoned and the
despised, and even on the brow of
crime he was great enough to place
the kiss of human sympathy. One Of
the greatest lines in our literature is
his speaking of an outcast, aud the
line is great enough to DO honor TO
the greatest genius that ever lived. He
said:
g Not until the sun excludes you
exclude you.''
"a charity as wide as the sky, and
wherever there was human suffering,
human misery, the sympathy of WIFI
man bent above it as the armament
bends above this earth. He was built
on broad and splendid plan-ampie,
without appearing to have limitations
| l-passing easily for a brother of
mountains and seas and consultations,
caring nothing for the little maps and
charts that timid pilots hug the shore
with and giving himself freely with the
recklessness of genius to winds and
waves and tides-cariDg for nothing
as long as the stars were above HIM
And he walked among men, among
writers, among verbal yarnishers and
veneerers, among literary milliners
and tailors, with the unconscious dig
nifty of an antique god. He was the
poet, also, Of that divine democracy
that gives equal rights 20 all the. sons
and daughters OF men. He uttered
the great American voice, uttered
song worthy of the great Republic. He
has uttered more supreme words than
any writer of our century and possibly
of almost any other. He was, above
all things. "a man. And above genius.
above all the snow-capped peaks of
Intelligence, above all of art, rises the
true man-greater than all.
HE WAS, GREATEST OF ALL, A TRUE NAN
| ''Ile was true man, and he walked
amongst his fellow-men as such. He
accepted and absorbed all theories,
all creeds, all religions, and believed
in none. He had philosophy and
religion of his own, broader, AS he
believed--and as belleve--than Others.
He was willing that all the sons of
men should be absolutely acquainted
with his heart and brain. He was not
AFRAID to live; not afraid 10 speak bis
thought; neither was he afraid to die.
For many years he and death lived
near neighbors. He was always will
ing and ready to meet and greet this
thing called death. And tor many
months he sat in the deepening twi-
| llSht--waiting for the night-waiting
for the light. In his brain were the
blessed memories of the day, and in
his heart were mingled the dawn and
the dusk of life. lie was NOT afraid;
cheerful every moment; the laughing
1 nymphs of day did not desert him.
They remained that they might clasp
the haiti uf the yelled and silent SIS
tiers of the night when they should
come. And when they did come Walt
! Whitman stretched his hands to both
]-one on one side, the nymphs of day,
and the other the silent sisters of the
night. And so, hand in hand, between
smiles and tears, he reached his
journeys end.
''From the frontier of life: from the
Western wave-kissed shore, he sent us
messages of content and hope. And
those messages seem now like strains
of music blown by the mystic trumpet
er from deaths pale realm.
''To-day we gave back To mother
nature, To her clasp and kiss, one of
the braveSt, sweetest souls that ever
lived in human clay, And thank him
for the brave words he had said on
the subject of death. Since he has
lived death is less fearful than il was
before, and thousands and millions
will walk down into the dark valley OF
the shadow holding Walt Whitman bv
the hand long after we are dead. The
brave words he has spoken will sound
like trumpets to the dying.
"And SO lay this poor wreath upon
this great mans tomb. loved him
living and love him still.n