was somewhat in the condition of a very
profane youth who had just got religion at a backwoods camp-meeting.
Soon after his conversion, the preacher, taking him affectionately by
the hand, inquired: "My young friend, are you very happy?" "Well,
parson," replied the only half-converted youth, "I am not damn happy,
just _happy,_ that's all."

His only brother was for many years a Representative in Congress
from Illinois. Clark Ingersoll was himself able and eloquent, but
overshadowed by the superior gifts of his younger brother, the
subject of this sketch. The death of the former was to Colonel
Ingersoll a sorrow which remained with him to the last. The funeral
occurred in Washington in the summer of 1879, and of the pall-bearers
selected by Colonel Ingersoll for the last sad service to his
brother, were men well known in public life, one of whom but two
years later, while President of the United States, fell by the hand
of an assassin.

From a Washington paper of the day succeeding the funeral of Clark
Ingersoll, the following is taken: "When Colonel Ingersoll ceased
speaking the pall-bearers, Senator Allison, Senator David Davis,
Senator Blaine, Senator Voorhees, Representatives Garfield of Ohio,
Morrison, Boyd, and Stevenson of Illinois, bore the casket to
the hearse and the lengthy _cortege_ proceeded to the Oak Hill
Cemetery where the remains were interred."

The occasion was one that will not easily pass from my memory.
There was no service whatever save the funeral oration which has
found its way into all languages. I stood by the side of
Colonel Ingersoll near the casket during its delivery, and vividly
recall his deep emotion, and the faltering tones in which the
wondrous sentences were uttered. It is probable that this oration
has no counterpart in literature. It seemed in very truth the
knell of hope, the expression of a grief that could know no surcease,
the agony of a parting that could know no morrow.

In such an hour how cheerless and comfortless these words:

"Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two
eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry
aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry.

"Every life, no matter if its every hour is rich with love, and
every moment jewelled with a joy, will at its close become a tragedy
as sad and deep and dark as can be woven of the warp and woof of
mystery and death."

And yet in those other wo