ician that changes worthless
things to joy, and makes right royal kings and queens out of common
clay. Love is the perfume of that wondrous flower the heart. Without
that divine passion, without that divine sway, we are less than beasts,
and with it earth is heaven and we are gods.

INGERSOLL'S ORATION AT A CHILD'S GRAVE.

In a remote corner of the Congressional Cemetery at Washington, a small
group of people with uncovered heads were ranged around a newly-opened
grave. They included Detective and Mrs. George O. Miller and family
and friends, who had gathered to witness the burial of the former's
bright little son Harry. As the casket rested upon the trestles there
was a painful pause, broken only by the mother's sobs, until the
undertaker advanced toward a stout, florid-complexioned gentleman in
the party and whispered to him, the words being inaudible to the
lookers-on. This gentleman was Col. Robert G. Ingersoll, a friend of
the Millers, who had attended the funeral--at their request. He shook
his head when the undertaker first addressed him, and then said
suddenly, "Does Mrs. Miller desire it?" The undertaker gave an
affirmative nod. Mr. Miller looked appealingly toward the
distinguished orator, and then Colonel Ingersoll advanced to the side
of the grave, made a motion denoting a desire for silence, and, in a
voice of exquisite cadence, delivered one of his characteristic
eulogies for the dead.

The scene was intensely dramatic. A fine drizzling rain was falling,
and every head was bent, and every ear turned to catch the impassioned
words of eloquence and hope that fell from the lips of the famed
orator. Colonel Ingersoll was unprotected by either hat or umbrella.
His invocation thrilled his hearers with awe, each eye that had
previously been bedimmed with tears brightening, and sobs becoming
hushed. The colonel said:

My Friends: I know how vain it is to gild a grief with words, and yet I
wish to take from every grave its fear. Here in this world, where life
and death are equal kings, all should be brave enough to meet what all
have met. The future has been filled with fear, stained and polluted
by the heartless past. From the wondrous tree of life the buds and
blossoms fall with ripened fruit, and in the common bed of earth
patriarchs and babes sleep side by side. Why should we fear that which
will come to all that is? We cannot tell. We do not know which is the
greatest blessing,