He was sensitive to the last degree--quick to feel a slight--to resent a wrong--but in the warmth of kindness the thorn of hatred blossomed. He was not quite fashioned for this world. The flints and thorns on life's highway bruised and pierced his flesh, and for his wounds he did not have the blessed balm of patience. He felt the manacles, the limitations--the imprisonments of life and so within the walls and bars he wore his very soul away. He could not bear the storms. The tides, the winds, the waves, in the morning of his life, dashed his frail bark against the rocks. He fought as best he could, and that he failed was not his fault. He was honest, generous and courageous. These three great virtues were his. He was a true and steadfast friend, seeing only the goodness of the ones he loved. Only a great and noble heart is capable of this. But he has passed beyond the reach of praise or blame--passed to the realm of rest--to the waveless calm of perfect peace. The storm is spent--the winds are hushed--the waves have died along the shore--the tides are still--the aching heart has ceased to beat, and within the brain all thoughts, all hopes and fears--ambitions, memories, rejoicings and regrets--all images and pictures of the world, of life, are now as though they had not been. And yet Hope, the child of Love--the deathless, beyond the darkness sees the dawn. And we who knew and loved him, we, who now perform the last sad rites--the last that friendship can suggest--"will keep his memory green." Dear Friend, farewell! "If we do meet again we shall smile indeed--if not, this parting is well made." Farewell! A TRIBUTE TO THOMAS CORWIN. Lebanon, Ohio, March 5, 1899. * An Impromptu preface to Colonel Ingersoll's lecture at Lebanon, Ohio. LADIES and Gentlemen: Being for the first time where Thomas Corwin lived and where his ashes rest, I cannot refrain from saying something of what I feel. Thomas Corwin was a natural orator--armed with the sword of attack and the shield of defence. Nature filled his quiver with perfect arrows. He was the lord of logic and laughter. He had the presence, the pose, the voice, the face that mirrored thoughts, the unconscious gesture of the orator. He had intelligence--a wide horizon--logic as unerring as mathematics--humor as rich as autumn when the boughs and vines bend with the weight of ripened fruit, while the forests flame with scarlet, brown and gold. He had wit as quick and sharp as lightning, and like the lightning it filled the heavens with sudden light. In his laughter there was logic, in his wit wisdom, and in his humor philosophy and philanthropy. He was a supreme artist. He painted pictures with words. He knew the strength, the velocity of verbs, the color, the light and shade of adjectives.