self. He "loved the name of honor more than he feared. death." I honor his memory especially that notwithstanding his life-long zeal in the cause of liberty, he was true to "the Constitution and all its compromises," as he proclaimed again and again in his public addresses. He was animated by no sectional hostility, but regarded our Union "as less a work of human prudence than of Providential interposition." In the spirit of a disciple of Washington, as a friend of Webster and Clay, he said:

"Let the laws be maintained and the Union preserved, at whatever cost. By whatever constitutional process, through whatever of darkness or danger there may be, let us proceed in the broad luminous path of duty, till danger's troubled night be passed and the star of peace returns.'

At the Union Mass Meeting in New York City, May 20th, 1861, Gen. Baker thus concluded a speech of great eloquence and power:

And if, from the far Pacific, a voice feebler than the feeblest murmur upon its shore may be heard to give you courage and hope in the contest, that voice is yours to-day. And if a man whose hair is gray, who is well nigh worn out in the battle and toil of life, may pledge himself on such an occasion, and in such an audience, let me say, as my last word, that when amid sheeted fire and flame, I saw and led the hosts of New York as they charged in contest upon a foreign soil for the honor of your flag; so again, if Providence shall will it, this feeble hand shall draw a sword never yet dishonored-not to fight for distant honor in a foreign land, but to fight for country, for home, for law, for government, for constitution, for right, for freedom, for humanity, and in the hope that the banner of my country may advance, and wheresoever that banner waves, there glory may pursue and freedom be established.

It would be unjust to his memory and to his countrymen to whom his memory will ever be dear, to omit to speak of his funeral oration over the dead body of a Senator from California, who died "tangled in the meshes of the code of honor." I have read no effort of that character, called out by such an event, so admirable, so touching, so worthy the sweet eloquence of Baker. That one effort should crown him with immortality. Baker was a brave man. He has proved it often. had, as an honorable colleague said in the House of Rep

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resentatives"in the battles of his country carved the evidence of his devotion to his government," and gave there proof of his courage. He proved it on the bloody field of Cerro Gordo, when he was praised by the greatest of living soldiers for his fine behavior and success. has proved it by his death. Yet he knew that dueling was a sin. He knew it deserved reprobation and was unhallowed by any or all of the illustrious names who had yielded to its requirements under the tyranny of a barbarous public opinion. He gave his unqualified condemnation to a code which offers "to personal vindictiveness a life due only to a country, a family and to God." derick had many good qualities that excited Baker's admiration. Both were self-made men; both had risen from poverty to the highest position. Let Baker's denunciation of this unchristian, barbarous code be remembered to his undying honor:

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To-day I renew my protest; to-day I utter yours. The code of honor is a delusion and a snare. It palters the hope of a true courage and binds it at the feet of crafty and cruel skill. surrounds its victim with the pomp and grace of the procession, but leaves him bleeding on the altar. It substitutes cold and deliberate preparation for courageous and manly impulse, and arms the one to disarm the other. It may prevent fraud between practiced duelists-who should be forever without its pale-but it makes the mere "trick of the weapon" superior to the noblest cause and the truest courage. Its picture of equality is a lie. It is equal in all the form, it is unjust in all the substance. The habitue of arms, the early training, the frontier life, the bloody war, the sectional custom, the life of leisure, all these are advantages which no negotiations can neutralize and no courage can overcome.

There was a moral courage and sublimity in it that has a fadeless lustre, reflected by his glorious death. Not far from each other

Where Ocean tells its rushing waves

To murmur dirges round their graves

these two distinguished men will repose in Lone Mountain cemetery until the trump of the Archangel shall sound and "summon this mortal to put on immortality." Let their monuments arise to meet the eye of the oceanworn exile as he comes near this haven of rest.

Let

them tell the traveler, as the landscape fades from his sight on leaving our gorgeous land, that "the paths of glory lead but to the grave. Let parents of unnumber

ed generations encourage their children to love that country for which Baker died-to cherish our Government and its institutions, which can thus advance the humblest of her sons. There let them rest, honored for their virtues, respected for their public services, mourned by thousands of all nations now present who will unite with us in saying:

How sleep the brave who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair

To dwell a weeping hermit there!

Farewell, gallant spirit! While thy death in trumpet tones tells us "God only is great," may it increase our devotion for the Omnipotent Almighty, who out of the dust could create such a being as thou wast. May it increase our gratitude that our lot is cast under a government, for whose preservation you poured out the best blood in your veins. Though the sad heart-moving words, "earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust," have been pronounced over thy earthly remains, yet in your own burning words-and what more appropriate ornament for the bier of him who earned the title of the "Gray Eagle of Republicanism," than a plume from his own wing, a "feather that adorned the royal bird and supported his flight?"

Your thoughts will remain. They will go forward and conquer. They are gathering now into a stream. They are spreading into a rushing, boiling and bounding river. They are controlling men's minds. They are maturing lives. They are kindling men's words. They are freeing men's souls. And as surely as the great procession of Heaven's host above us moves each in its appointed place

and orbit, so surely shall the proud principles of human right and freedom prevail.

And hereafter, when the "banner of Freedom streams proudly to the wind in honor of victory-when peace o'er the world extends her olive wand"-when the great and good are remembered, you will not be forgotten. We will remember the man "of foreign birth who laid down his life for the land of his adoption." When the roll is called of Freedom's great martyrs, your sacrifices, your fidelity to liberty, will be remembered, and ten thousand times ten thousand patriot tongues shall say of you, as it was said of another soldier in another struggle, "Fallen upon the field of honor."

"But the last word must be spoken, and the imperious mandate of death must be fulfilled. Patriot-warrior, farewell! Thus, oh brave heart! we leave thee to thy rest. Thus, surrounded by tens of thousands, we leave thee to the equal grave. As in life, no other voice among us so rung its trumpet tones upon the ear of freemen, so in death its echoes will reverberate amid our mountains and our valleys, until truth and valor cease to appeal to the human heart."

Address of Bev. Thos. Starr King,

DELIVERED AT THE GRAVE IN LONE MOUNTAIN CEMETERY, SAN FRANCISCO, PREVIOUS TO THE INTERMENT OF COL. BAKER'S BODY.

The story of our great friend's life has been eloquently told. We have borne him now to the home of the dead, to the Cemetery which, after fit services of prayer, he devoted in a tender and thrilling speech, to its hallowed purposes. In that address, he said: "Within these grounds public reverence and gratitude shall build the tombs of warriors and statesmen, who have given all their lives and their best thoughts to their country." Could he forecast, seven years ago, any such fulfillment of those words as this hour reveals? He confessed the conviction before he went into the battle which bereaved us,

that his last hour was near. Could any slight shadow of his destiny have been thrown across his path, as he stood here when these grounds were dedicated, and looked over slopes unfurrowed then by the plowshare of death?

His words were prophetic. Yes, warrior and statesman, wise in council, graceful and electric as few have been in speech, ardent and vigorous in debate, but nobler than for all these qualities by the devotion which prompted thee to give more than thy wisdom, more than thy energy and weight in the hall of senatorial discussion, more than the fervor of thy tongue and the fire of thy eagle eye in the great assemblies of the people-even the blood of thy indomitable heart-when thy country called with a cry of peril,-we receive thee with tears and pride. We find thee dearer than when thou camest to speak to us in the full tide of life and vigor. Thy wounds through which thy life was poured are not "dumb mouths," but eloquent with the intense and perpetual appeal of thy soul. We receive thee to "reverence and gratitude," as we lay thee gently to thy sleep; and we pledge to thee, not only a monument that shall hold thy name, but a memorial in the hearts of a grateful people, so long as the Pacific moans near thy resting-place, and a fame eminent among the heroes of the Republic so long as the mountains shall feed the Oregon! The poet tells us, in pathetic cadence, that the paths of glory lead but to the grave. But this is true only in the superficial sense. It is true that the famous and the obscure, the devoted and the ignoble, "alike await the inevitable hour." But the path of true glory does not end in the grave. It passes through it to larger opportunities of service. Do not believe or feel that we are burying Edward Baker. A great nature is a seed. "It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body." It germinates thus in this world as well as in the other. Was Warren buried when he fell on the field of a defeat, pierced through the brain, at the commencement of the Revolution, by a bullet that put the land in mourning? No; the monument that has been raised where his blood reddened the sod, granite though it be in a hundred courses, is a feeble witness of the per