what a feast of reason! what a flow of soul! When there was a pause, I said to him: "Governor, you have given us the great men who figure in Georgia history; tell us something now about your tramp." The sweet smile that played athwart his lips-what words can ever express? And the eloquence of his practical life-how it beggars the tongue of man! If ever human words did express it, they came from his own humble servant: "Mars Alec is kinder to dogs than most people is to folks." What Demosthenian or Ciceronian lips have ever formulated such an eulogium?

"Governor," one of us said, "we hear that you have a room at Liberty Hall for tramps." "Yes," he replied, “I feel it my duty to try to make everybody as happy as 1 can." We saw the tips of the angel wings. We realized that an angel had blessed our house, and we felt—oh. how profoundly-that everywhere the lines over which those wheels had rolled were holy-that no Georgian could cross them with a base thought in his head, or a mean, malignant feeling in his heart, without becoming a traitor to the mother earth which gave that frail, attenuated form to the breathing world, and is now about to hug it back to herself again.-Gen. Henry R. Jackson.

[Extract from a speech delivered at the memorial exercises in Atlanta, March 8, 1883.]

THE GREAT COMMONER.

No name has been longer or better known in public life or more universally honored than the name of the Great Commoner whose sad demise we meet to mourn.

Whether as attorney at law, or as member of the legislature of his native State; or as member of Congress, where his services have given him so much renown for so long a time; or as vice-president of the Confederate States; or as Governor of our own beloved State, he has been the same eloquent and able champion of constitutional, liberty, local self-government, and human rights.

Even in his retirement-which was self-imposed for a time-his literary and historical labors on the same line for the protection of human liberty have enrolled his name indelibly on a bright page in the temple of fame. His feeble, delicate form, worn down with disease, after a long struggle succumbed to death; but his gigantic intellect was brilliant and powerful during his whole career. The name of Alexander H. Stephens can never die as long as liberty dwells on earth, and intellect and virtue are honored by the good and the great. He was emphatically a good man as well as a great man. His sympathy was as extensive as the miseries of his race. He was always ready to minister consolation in every case of distress, and relief to the extent of his ability in every case of need. His life was devoted to the pleasure and welfare of others. He was the ardent friend of educa tion, and did more than any other man who has lived in Georgia for the education of young men in need of as sistance. But such was his modesty, that even his most intimate friends seldom heard him speak of what he was doing or suffering for others.

He has left behind him a spotless character. He has blessed the generation in which he lived with a noble example. He has been, in the highest sense of the term, a public benefactor. His great intellectuality, his distin

guished patriotism, his acknowledged statesmanship, his profound philosophy, his accurate knowledge of human nature, his keen penetration into the future, his wisdom in council, his fidelity to principle and to friendship, his philanthropy, his sympathy with the poor, his relief of the needy, and his universal Christian charity, are qualities more to be desired, decorations of human character of greater value, than all the wealth of Croesus or the glitter of the royal diadem, emblem of absolutism, which sparkles upon the brow of the Czar of all the Russias.

But our friends, true and cherished-the friend of his race so patient in his suffering and so true to every trust has been called from his labors, that his works may follow him and that he may enter upon the enjoyments of his everlasting reward. Individually, I feel that my loss is irreparable. For more than a quarter of a century, he had not only borne to me the relation of a friend, but he was my bosom friend. I loved him; 1 honored him; I conferred freely with him. He was wise. and good, and great. But my loved and honored friend sleeps the long sleep of death, and I am left to mourn his loss. If the proprieties of the occasion permitted, I could not trust myself to enlarge. I feel more like weeping than speaking. Friend, counsellor, companion—he is gone, and I can see him no more in this world!

"He was a man-take him for all in all,

I shall not look upon his like again."

Peace to his ashes! And while his immortal spirit dwells with God who gave it, may perpetual blessings cluster around his honored name!"-Joseph E. Brown.

[Extract from a speech delivered at the memorial exercises in Atlanta March 8, 1883.1

GEORGIA BEREAVED OF ANOTHER SON.

The reaper goes forth, and one after another is harvested unto death. Omitting the carnival of blood from 1861 to 1865, how often have we been called since those dark days to grieve over our first and foremost men.

We have stood and wept over the grave of the great Cobb, whose mighty brain and loving heart not only commanded the admiration-but won the affection of all who fell within the range of their influence. Johnson, too, the grand old Georgian who shed honor upon his native State, has passed away. Benning, the incorruptible and able judge, the gallant leader of a brigade in Longstreet's bloody corps, and who followed the plume of that great captain for four long, weary years-he, too, has been called away. Chappell, one of the noblest and purest of his race, sleeps his last sleep in the soil of the State he so long served and loved so well. Stephens, the younger, though he died in manhood's prime, has given himself an honored name and place with the great judges who in the past gave such grandeur to the Georgia bench. It was but yesterday that Warner, one of the most honored of those upon whom Georgia ever placed the ermine, fell asleep among you, and upon that great judge we shall never look again.

Of course I need not remind this people that the emblem of Georgia's grief and the republic's sorrow have scarcely disappeared over the new-made grave of Benjamin Harvey Hill.

And now again we are surrounded with new evidences of mourning. After the midnight watch of Saturday last had marked the time, and when this mighty

city of struggling life and unceasing activity had been hushed into silence, and just before the

"Morn, waked by the circling hours,

With rosy hands unbarred the gates of light,"

the heart of another great Georgian ceased its weary throbbings, and the spirit winged its way to its eternal home to join the mother whose image was ever present with him during his long and eventful life. The death of Governor Stephens was no surprise to him; he had grappled with it a thousand times before, and never feared to face its grim presence, because he had lived for death as well as life.

When we have looked at his delicate form, and listened to his words of wisdom in conversation or in speech, we could but exclaim, what a wonderful man is this! Feeble though he was, he has given his life to labor— not so much for himself as for others; and but recently, finding his means too limited to meet the demands upon his charity, even after meagerly supplying his own wants, his regret was not so much for himself as it was for those whom he could not help. But his work is done, his labor is ended, and he is to be buried out of our sight forever. No more again shall we ever see that bright and piercing eye-that pallid and wasted form. That free heart will throb no more in sympathy with other suffering hearts; that hand opened so often to alms is shut forever. But it is pleasant to remember that he lived out man's allotted time, and passed to his final rest with a painless death.

"He sat as sets the morning star,

Which goes not down behind the darkened west,