Alexandria gazette. [volume] (Alexandria, D.C.) 1834-1974, 1893-06-20
Capt. Alex. ID. Payne.

Quler Dar al meeellnS IN nOnOr Oh the
former captain of the famous Black
Horse Cavalry:
In supporting the resolutions just Of
fered, l desire to express my admira-
ton for the happy and graceful manner
in which my esteemed friend has voiced
the general feeling of this bar, and as
member of our dead brothers family to
add my personal thanks.
Fortunately for this bar it has had
few occasions since the war to drape it
self in mourning. This may have been
compensation for the great sacrifices
which it made during the ''heroic age"
1t is probably forgotten by most Of us,
but it is nevertheless q fact, that six
out of sixteen members fell by the fire
of our enemies, and their remains lie
buried from the works Of Richmond to
the ''high-water mark" Of our hopes at
Gettysburg. The war records establish
the fact that the first Confederate SOL
der who fell in defense of the South
was John Marr, member of the War
renton bar, and commander ofthe War
renton Rifles. His death was speedily
followed by Madison Tyler's AN honored
son of an honored Judge of this court.
Robert L. Scott, perhaps the most dis
tinguished member Of his profession III
Virginia, was the next victim, and then
followed in rapid succession Pollock,
Kincheloe and the gallant Randolph.
At intervals death has renewed its
roll-call, and has recently snatched
from us, in the glory and pride of
strength and health, one whom all who
belonged to Or knew this bar will ac-
knowledge to have been one of its chief
est ornaments. In speaking of the vir-
tues of the dead, whose loss we are
here to mourn, l fear that the ''thick-
ness of our blood may give the ap-
pearance of family pride to a tri-
butte | know to be just. But if the
voices Of those who knew him best and
loved him most are to be silenced by
blood and the grave, the lessons Of a
noble life will be wasted. TO no man
of this earth was ] bound by moro and
closer ties. His father and | wei
brothers children; my wife and he were
brothers children; his mother and mine,
his wife and l were cousins. But close
as were the ties of blood, there were
others nearer and dearer yet. From
his boyhood to his grave we were
friends in the truest sense of that noble
word. For years the offices where we
sought our daily bread and prosecuted
our profession connected. In our opin-
ions and feeling upon the war, whose
approaching footsteps we both heard,
we were in closest harmony. In those
offices was formed the first company
distinctively and avowedly organized
for that conflict. The same feelings in
spired us both, and from then to his
| death we never parted in act or thought;
indeed, each knew that neither in ma
tional nor personal conflict could either
have 8 sorrow or encounter danger
that the other would not be by his side.
To me his character was singularly
attractive. not by the Sunday-school
standard, for his catalogue of that type
of virtue was perhaps limited; but in
the high, healthy, virile, Roman sense.
He was never one who "dabbled in the
font of fctive tears, or nursed on mealy.
mouthed philanthropics." A falsehood
uttered over his grave now would be a
sacrilege.
In looking over the record of his life
| would say the salient feature of his
character was his deep and intolerant
love of truth. ! would call him pre-
eminently truth-lover, truth-teller. His
very person bespoke the character.
Who can forget the frank, ever-uplifted
brow, the soldier bearing and the mar
tial tread, the eye that sought, not
stunned your gaze.
aad if it looked in scorn, like Laras,
dared you to forget" 1t seemed to
me that hypocrisy always quailed in
his presence and covered before the
penetrating glance and prickly tongue
that exposed it.
"Sworn foe to Can't, he smotc it down
With trenchant wit unsparing
| And mocking. rent with ruthless hand
The robe Pretense was wearing
This was strong, indomitable man,
whose memory we are here to honor.
His character was not all smooth and
round, like the statue of an Apollo, but
angular, strong, in parts, rugged even
to asperity, as torso of Hercules. The
sense of duty to him was a sacred and
personal one. upon which he never in,
yited the sufrages of the public, nol
the approval of the press. He acted
without their consent, possibly, some,
times. against their 'most sweet
voices" But the consequences of bi:
decisions he always accepted. He
never unloaded upon others, and in his
entire life never sent o scapegoat into
tie wilderness.
He was eminently practical, clear
headed man, not given up to delusions
more than to cant. The same veraclty
of character and sense of duty dlstln
guished him in business, as in all the
other affairs of life. When the deiuge
of war had subsidized, no man saw more
clearly than he what was the duty
which was eXacted of those WHO. hao
survived. He saw at once that indo
lence effeminate repining over griev,
ances, meant debt, dependence an6
servility. He felt, too, that marriage
with woman of his heart had brought
increased duties, enlarged obligations
upon him. He sought Dame Fortune:
eoldsn smiles, and won them. He
struggled "to gather gear by every wil'
l. l.,