e, or sex, delighted to
apply to him when absent. When present, it was always "general." A
thorough soldier, there was an idyllic strain in his nature. He was
essentially rural in his tastes. He loved the wheat fields and tobacco
plantations of his native State. Its very air seemed to inspire him.

The Blue Ridge was to him the perfection of natural beauty. He was warm
in his friendships and true to his kinships. Always dignified, there was
a heartiness in his greetings that was irresistible. He was as broad as
his acres. Riding or driving over his vast estate or in its vicinity,
his cheerful halloo rang in the ears of those who had not seen him, and
the cheery swing of his hat, though paid to all, was a cherished
compliment. If the spirit of mortal be proud, it was not his spirit.
Courteous, sympathetic, unobtrusive, patriotic, knightly, and
beneficent, he was a part of the soil of Virginia itself. He had the
loving hospitality that would take all into the march of progress. How
much of these qualities was innate, how much he drew from his high
lineage, how much from the teachings of his illustrious father, can
never be known, but he blended them in a halo that will not soon fade
from his memory.

Sir, others have spoken of the incidents of his life and of his unabated
fidelity to its claims. I can not add to his record. I have met him in
battle array; I have embraced him with a soldier's warmth. We entered
Congress together; we have fought here side by side. It has fallen to my
lot to eulogize him. This I will venture: It would mar the catalogue of
bright names of which America is so proud if his were omitted from the
roll.

ADDRESS OF MR. COWLES, OF NORTH CAROLINA.

Mr. SPEAKER: Truly "in the midst of life we are in death." There is
scarcely one of the associates and colleagues of Gen. WILLIAM H.F. LEE
who knew him here and up to the closing days of the late Congress who
would have been deterred by the thought of personal risk from exchanging
the chances of life or death with him for a few months; and yet, in so
short a time the dread summoner, who soon or late is to call us all, has
taken him from this life into that which fadeth not, neither does it
die.

The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing
When bligh