ur teacher, that
paragon of good men, Dr. Alonzo Church, selected the tragedy of Julius
Caesar for representation by the larger boys, and, by common consent,
the character of Brutus was assigned to Lamar. Every one felt that the
lofty patriotism and heroic virtues of the old Roman would find a fit
representative in Lamar. I remember, in our rehearsals, how completely
his identity would be lost in that of Brutus. He seemed to enter into
all the feelings and the motives which prompted the great soul of the
Roman to slay his friend for his country's good. Time has left but one
or two who participated in the play. The grave has closed over Lamar,
as over the others. Those who remain will remember the bearing of their
companion, on that occasion, as extraordinary--the struggle between
inclination and duty--the pathos with which he delivered his speech to
the people after the assassination, but especially his bearing and
manner in the reply to Cassius' proposition to swear the
conspirators--the expansion of his person to all its proportions, as if
his soul was about to burst from his body, as he uttered:

"No, not an oath."

And again, when the burning indignation burst from him at the
supposition of the necessity of an oath to bind honorable men:

"Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous,
Old, feeble, carious, and such suffering souls
That welcome wrongs, unto bad causes. Swear
Such creatures as men doubt, but do not stain
The even virtue of our enterprise,
Nor the unsuppressive mettle of our spirits,
To think that our cause, or our performance,
Did need an oath; when every drop of blood
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
Is guilty of a several bastardy
If he do break the smallest particle
Of any promise that hath passed from him."

Though a boy, the effect upon the audience was electrical. The nature
of his boy representative was the same as that which animated Rome's
noblest son. From his soul he felt every word, and they burned from his
lips, with a truth to his soul and sentiments, that went home to every
heart in that assembly of plain farmers, and their wives and daughters.
There were not ten, perhaps, who had ever witnessed a theatrical
entertainment, but their hearts were mortal and honest, and they saw in
the mimic youth the impersonation of the nobility of soul, and mighty
truth, and the spontaneous burst of applause was but the sincerity of
truth. The exclamation of on