The Pacific commercial advertiser. [volume] (Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands) 1885-1921, 1899-08-03
THE DEAD ORATOR
Simple But Impressive
Burial Services.
Old Friends Gather About His Grave
What Was Sad and Done
BY Them.

NEW YORK, July 25.-The funeral
OF the late Robert G.. Ingersoll took
place this afternoon from Walston,
iDobbs Ferry, where he died on Friday
last.
No clergyman was present TO conduct
the services; there was no music and
there were no pallbearers. The body
lay on a cot in the room where he died
II was enShrOuded in white and Just
one red rose placed on the breast,
About the cot were banks of floral
tributes sent by friends, wreaths and
punches of blossoms. The services were
held at O'Clock. Mrs. Ingersoll sat be-
side her dead and beside her were her
daughters, Mrs. Walston H. Brown and
Miss Maud Ingersoll. They were very
much agitated and wept almost con-
itinuOuSly. Mr.. and Mrs. G. P Farrell
were present, and Charles Broadway
Rouse, Colonel Ingersoll's oldest friend,
occupied a chair by the side of the bier.
| There were some forty others present.
and they remained by DR.. John Clark
Ridpath, who, in a voice full of emo
! ton, said: My friends, it is my very
sad duty to read in the presence of the
| dead the last poem written by Colonel
Robert G.. Ingersoll, entitled The
Declaration of the Free This poem
Colonel Ingersoll had read and altered
in some of its parts only a few hours
before he was stricken down.
| Major 0. j. Smythe, who resides in
| DObbs Ferry, and who was close per-
sonal friend of Colonel Ingersoll, then
without preliminary words read an
other extract from Colonel Ingersoll's
writings, entitled My Religion
DR.. John Elliott of New York read
the funeral GRAFTON delivered by Colo
mel Ingersoll over his brothers body,
which is as follows:
My Friends: | am going to do that
which the dead often promised he
would do for me. The loved and low
ing brother, husband, father, friend
died where manhood's morning al
most touches noon, and while the
shadows still were falling toward the
west He had not passed on life's high
way the stone that marks the highest
point, but being weary for moment, |
he lay down by the WaySide and using |
his burden for pillow fell into that |
dreamleSS sleep that kisses down his |
eyeIids still. While yet in love with |
life and raptured with the world, he |
passed to silence and pathetic dust |
Yet, after all, it may be best, just in |
the happieSt, Sunniest hour OF all the
voyage, while eager winds are kissing
every sail, to dash against the Unseen
rock and in an instant hear the pillows
roar, sunken ship. For, whether in
midsea or among the breakers of the
further shore, a wreck must mark at
last the end of each and all. And eV-
cry life, no matter if it's every hour is
rich with love and every moment jew
eled with a joy, will, at its close, be-
come a tragedy, as sad, and deep, and
dark as can be woven of the warp and
wool of mystery and death. This brave
and tender man in every storm OF lie
was oak and rock, but in the sunshine
he was vine and flower. He was the
friend of all heroic souls. He climbed
the heights and left all superstitions
far below, while on his forehead fell
the golden dawning of a grander day.
He loved the beautiful and was with
color, form and music touched to tears
He sided with the weak, and with |
willing hand gave aims; with loyal
heart and with the purest hand ne
faithfully discharged all public trusts
He was wOrshiper Of liberty and a |
friend of the oppressed. A thousand |
times | have heard him quote the
words: For justice all place temple |
and all season summer. lie DSlleNeu
that happiness was the only good, rea-
son the only torch, justice the only
humanity the only religion,
and love the priest.
He added to the sum Of human JOY,
and were every one for whom he did
some loving service 20 bring a bios
som to his grave he would sleep to-
night beneath a wilderness of flowers.
Life is a narrow vale between the cold
and barren peaks of two eternities. We
strive in vain to look beyond the
heights. We cry aloud and the only
answer is the echo of our wailing cry
From the vOicelesS lips of the unre-
plying dead there comes no word; but
in the night of death hope sees star
and listening love can hear the rustic
Of a wing. He who sleeps here when
DYING. mistaking the approach of death
for the return of health, whispered
with his latest breath, L am better
now. Let us believe, in spite of doubts
and dOgmas and tears and fears that
these dear words are true of ali the
countless dead And now, to you who
nave been chosen from among the
many men he loved to do the last sad
office for the dead, we give his sacred
lust Speech cannot contain our love.
There was-there is-no gentler,
stronger. manlier man