Dead--dead--dead--he yet speaketh! Is Washington dead? Is Hampden dead? Is David

dead? Is any man dead that ever was fit to live? Disenthralled of flesh, and

risen to the unobstructed sphere where passion never comes, he begins his

illimitable work. His life now is grafted upon the Infinite, and will be

fruitful as no earthly life can be. Pass on, thou that hast overcome! Your

sorrows O people, are his peace! Your bells, and bands, and muffled drums sound

triumph in his ear. Wail and weep here; God makes it echo joy and triumph there.

Pass on, victor!

 

Four years ago, O Illinois, we took from your midst an untried man, and from

among the people; we return him to you a mighty conqueror. Not thine any more,

but the nation's; not ours, but the world's. Give him place, ye prairies! In the

midst of this great Continent his dust shall rest, a sacred treasure to myriads

who shall make pilgrimage to that shrine to kindle anew their zeal and

patriotism. Ye winds, that move over the mighty places of the West, chant his

requiem! Ye people, behold a martyr, whose blood, as so many inarticulate words,

pleads for fidelity, for law, for liberty!

 

--HENRY WARD BEECHER.

 

_THE HISTORY OF LIBERTY_

 

The event which we commemorate is all-important, not merely in our own annals,

but in those of the world. The sententious English poet has declared that "the

proper study of mankind is man," and of all inquiries of a temporal nature, the