The herald., 1898-12-05
THE FLKS' MEMORIAL
FIRST ANNUAL CELEBRATION
OF LOS ANGELES LODGE 90
SERVICES AT THE BURBANK
Impressive Ceremonies and Eloquent
Addresses by Burt Estes Howard
and Senator White

| ternoon with a large and interested audience
at the first public memorial service ever
held by Los Angeles lodge so, Benevolent
| and Protective Order of Elks. The scenery
| of the stage was arranged to simulate Tor
est with large elk's head on a union
shield, the symbol of the order, surrounded
with electric lamps hung over the pros
| cenum. Pennants and drapery in the ma
tional colors, emblematic of one of the
fundamental principles of the order, were
used in decoration.
| At 2 o'clock the members of the order,
wearing their badges, took their places CT.
the south side of the parquet, the principal
officers in their representative regala and
the speaker of the day being seated on the
stage. The order OF servite began with the
opening march from Folkunger lKrete eh.
mer) by the Burbank theater orch,stra, led
| by Dion Romandy, musical director and
| William Machette, director Of the Grau
Opera company Frank G. Finlayson then
made a few remarks explaining the pur
poses OF the order and principles upon
which it is founded, charity, fraternity and
fidelity.
! The opening ceremonies consisted of the
ritual for the dead, conducted by the ex-
alted ruler, John Brink. The secretary,
Charles II. O'Nel, cau-d ,ne roll of de-
ceased members, as follows 1889, l, G.
Ramsdel, Charles T.. Gaut; 1871, j. W.
Skinner; 1892, H. c. Daugherty; 1894, Harry
Clutch, j. +. Timothy; 1896, c. chardson !;
1897, Irwin I. Bush; 1898, George Caron,
w. I. Ryan.
The chaplain, Frank J. Cooper, offered
an invocation, followed by fine rendition
of the prayer from Martha" sung by the
Grau Opera company, with full orchestral
accompaniment. At the conclusion of the
ritual Harry Davies, the leading tenor of
the opera company, sang impressively, Ad-
ans Holy City"
Rev. Burt Estes Howard delivered a
beautiful eulogy, as follows:
There is something tenderly solemn in
these quiet seasons of memorial. 1t is a
time when, under the mystic compulsion
of recollection death loosens his hold for a
little upon our lost loves and they come
back to us awhile with the old light in
their eyes. There is strange power in
memory. She stands by the tomb where
sleeps the sacred dead and callng them by
name, 10! the seals are broken, the stone
is rolled away and rising from their dusty
beds, the slumberers come forth and walk
again life's busy ways. Then stripping Oft
the grave clothes, those somber signs of des-
olation, love folds about them the seamless
robe of Immortality and they pass on, but
cannot die.
1t seems almost sacrilege in this hour
devoted to the remembrance of those who
ho,- eo1, = H. -. !
guess to intrude upon the privacy of the
hearts shrine when we are kneeling in holy
communion with our dead, and break the
stiffness with any word, however approprl-
ate. Let us softly close the door and come
away, leaving our souls to speak with their
beloved in that silent language which needs
neither tongue nor interpreter to make its
meaning plain.
But there is a word which all must hear
word cried out from every side and though
in the din and confusion OF life and amid
the rumble of the traffic on the street its
sound is often muffled and indstinct, in
times like this, with all the noises and tur-
moil OF the world shut out, it booms in our
ears like the roar of the sea. 1t is the knell
that tolls the warning of our Immortality
"Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the
golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher bt
broken at the fountain, or the wheel be
broken at the cistern; then shall the dust
return to earth as it was and the spirit
shall return to God who gave it,"
Out of the eternal deep the years move in
like pillows on the shore, ceaseless ebb
and flow, casting their deposit on the
sands-perchance of pearls, perchance Of
broken shells and kelp and wreckage. We
walk the strand like children, making blind
bargains with the sea, bartering for what
it brings the ground on which we tread
The tide gains swiftly on the beach A lit
tie while and, 10. We and the treasures We
have gathered are swallowed up and the
hungry sea rolls on. So is the life of many.
AS we think of the dead today, fondling
the thoughts that linger in our minds as the
odor of rose leaves of long ago still haunts
the heart of some hallowed chest in which
the flowers have long since mouldered into
DUST, we grow seriously conscious of the
speed with which the sandy hour-glass is
wearing away our little lives and we turn
with wistful gentleness to look into each
others eyes, wondering as we tighten our
clasp of hands who shall be next.
From the beginning of time men have
been inspired by sense of life's largeness
and oppressed by a sense of its littleness.
We are but moving point that vibrates
between our native dust and our divine
ideals. Life gets it's meaning and its worth
from the high soul that tortures unwilling
matter into an incarnation of divinity. 1t
is the man who is of moment, not things
AS are the dead this day so shall we be-
With tireless pulse the heart is beating it's
way through the thin wall of time. While
we remember those whom we have '1oved
long since and lost awhile" we must look
out with earnest eyes at the problems
which life holds for us who wait but little
while for the lights to go out, signaling
that the curtain of the unknown world is
soon to rise. The great task for every soul
Of us can be summed up in word: To think
high and act as high as our noblest dreams;
to live divnely like god and to die fear