here become like us, they develop the same wants. Or, if not they, their children.

The second generation of Germans and Irish are as patriotic as the fortieth generation of Americans. Who wants free trade? Only those who want to make us their customers. If England gets her goods in here free she will soon become the richest empire on the globe, and we will become nobodies. The Democrats point to lands given away by the Republicans, but they do not tell us of the good uses made of the lands thus granted in establishing connections throughout the nation. They point to the lands they have taken back, but they do not tell you that they were recovered under provisions put in the grants for that purpose.'

Robert Ingersoll's Matchless Eulogy of Roscoe

Conkling.

(Delivered in Albany, N. Y.)

The ceremonies were under auspices of the Senate and Assembly. Col. Ingersoll said:

Roscoe Conkling, a great man, an orator, a statesman, a lawer, a distinguished citizen of the Republie, in the zenith of his fame and power has reached his journey's end; and we are met, here in the city of his birth, to pay our tribute to his worth and work. He earned and held a proud position in the public thought. He stood for independence, for courage, and above all for absolute integrity, and his name was known and honored by many millions of his fellow-men.

The literature of many lands is rich with the tributes that gratitude, admiration and love have paid to the honored dead. These tributes disclose the character of nations, the ideals of the human race. In them we find the estimates of greatness-the deeds and lives that challenged praise and thrilled the hearts of men.

In the presence of death the good man judges as he would be judged. He knows that men are only fragments, that the greatest walk in shadow, and that faults and failures mingle with the lives of all. In the grave should be buried the prejudices and passions born of conflict.

Charity should hold the scales in which are weighed the deeds of men. Peculiarities, traits born of locality and surroundings, these are but the dust of the race. These are accidents, drapery, clothes, fashions, that have

nothing to do with the man except to hide his charac

ter.

They are the the clouds that cling to mountains. Time gives us clearer vision. That which was merely local fades away. The words of envy are forgotten, and all there is of sterling worth remains. He who was called a

partisan is a patriot.

The revolutionist and the outlaw are the founders of na

tions, and he who was regarded as a scheming, selfish politician becomes a statesman, a philosopher, whose words and deeds shed light.

Fortunate is that nation great enough to know the great. When a great man dies, one who has nobly fought the battle of life, who has been faithful to every trust, and has uttered his highest, noblest thought, one who has stood proudly by the right in spite of jeer and taunt, neither stopped by foe nor swerved by friend—in honoring him, in speaking words of praise above his dust, we pay a tribute to ourselves. How poor this world would be without its graves, without the memories of its mighty dead. Only the voiceless speak forever.

Intelligence, integrity and courage are the great pillars that support the State. Above all, the citizens of a free nation should honor the brave and independent manthe man of stainless integrity, of will and intellectual force.

Such men are the atlases upon whose mighty shoulders rest the great fabric of the Republic. Flatterers, cringers, crawlers, time-servers, are the dangerous citizens of a democracy. They who gain applause and power by pandering to the mistakes, the prejudices and passions of the multitude are the enemies of liberty.

When the intelligant submit to the ciamor of the many anarchy begins.

Mediocrity, touched with ambition, flatters the base and calumniates the great, while the true patriot, who will do neither, is often sacrificed.

In a government of the people a leader should be a teacher; he should carry the torch of truth. Most people are the slaves of habit, followers of custom, believers in the wisdom of the past, and were it not for brave and splendid souls "the dust of antique time would lie unswept and mountainous error be too highly heaped for truth to overpeer." Custom is a prison locked and barred by those who long ago were dust, the keys of which are in the keeping of the dead. Nothing is grander than when a strong, intrepid man breaks the chains, levels the walls, and breasts the many-headed mob like some great cliff that meets the innumerable billows of the sea.

The politician hastens to agree with the majority, insists that their prejudice is patriotism, that their ignorance is wisdom; not that he loves them, but because he loves himself.

The statesman, the real reformer, points out the mistakes of the multitude, attacks the prejudices of his countrymen, laughs at their follies, denounces their cruelties, enlightens and enlarges their minds, and educates the conscience, not because he loves himself, but because he loves and serves the right and wishes to make his country great and free.

He

With him defeat is but a spur to greater effort. who refuses to stoop, who cannot be bribed by the promise of success or the fear of failure, who walks the high

way of the right, and in disaster stands erect, is the only

victor.

Nothing is more despicable than to reach fame by crawling, position by cringing.

When real history shall be written by the truthful and the wise, these men, these kneelers at the shrines of chance and fraud, these brazen idols worshiped once as gods, will be the very food of scorn, while those who bore the burden of defeat, who earned and kept their selfrespect, who would not bow to man or men for place or power. will bear upon their breasts the laurel mingled with the oak.

Rosoe Conkling was a man of superb courage. He not only acted without fear, but he had that fortitude of soul that bears the consequences of the course pursued without complaint. He was charged with being proud. The charge was true. He was proud. His knees were as inflexible as the "unwedgeablee and knarled oak,” but he was not vain. Vanity rests on the opinion of others-pride on our own. The source of vanity is from without -of pride, from within. Vanity is a vane that turns, a willow that bends with every breeze; pride is the oak shat defies the storm. One is cloud, the other rock. One is weakness, the other strength.

Be

This imperious man entered public life in the dawn of the reformation, at the time when the country needed men of pride, of principle and courage. The institution. of slavary had poisoned all the springs of power. fore this crime ambition fell upon its knees-politicians, judges, clergymen and merchant-princes bowed low and humbly with their hats in their hands. The real friend of man was denounced as the enemy of his country, the