When a school-boy, and at a public examination and exhibition, (then common at the academies throughout the State,) our teacher, that paragon of good men, Dr. Alonzo Church, selected the tragedy of Julius Caesar for representation by the larger boys, and, by common consent, the character of Brutus was assigned to Lamar.  Every one felt that the lofty patriotism and heroic virtues of the old Roman would find a fit representative in Lamar.  I remember, in our rehearsals, how completely his identity would be lost in that of Brutus.  He seemed to enter into all the feelings and the motives which prompted the great soul of the Roman to slay his friend for his country’s good.  Time has left but one or two who participated in the play.  The grave has closed over Lamar, as over the others.  Those who remain will remember the bearing of their companion, on that occasion, as extraordinary—­the struggle between inclination and duty—­the pathos with which he delivered his speech to the people after the assassination, but especially his bearing and manner in the reply to Cassius’ proposition to swear the conspirators—­the expansion of his person to all its proportions, as if his soul was about to burst from his body, as he uttered: 

  “No, not an oath.”

And again, when the burning indignation burst from him at the supposition of the necessity of an oath to bind honorable men: 

  “Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous,
  Old, feeble, carious, and such suffering souls
  That welcome wrongs, unto bad causes.  Swear
  Such creatures as men doubt, but do not stain
  The even virtue of our enterprise,
  Nor the unsuppressive mettle of our spirits,
  To think that our cause, or our performance,
  Did need an oath; when every drop of blood
  That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
  Is guilty of a several bastardy
  If he do break the smallest particle
  Of any promise that hath passed from him.”

Though a boy, the effect upon the audience was electrical.  The nature of his boy representative was the same as that which animated Rome’s noblest son.  From his soul he felt every word, and they burned from his lips, with a truth to his soul and sentiments, that went home to every heart in that assembly of plain farmers, and their wives and daughters.  There were not ten, perhaps, who had ever witnessed a theatrical entertainment, but their hearts were mortal and honest, and they saw in the mimic youth the impersonation of the nobility of soul, and mighty truth, and the spontaneous burst of applause was but the sincerity of truth.  The exclamation of one I shall never forget:  “He is cut out for a great man.”  There was no stage-trick; he had never seen a theatre.  There was no assumption of fictitious feeling; but nature bubbled up in his heart, and the words of Shakspeare, put into the mouth of Brutus, were but the echo of the deep, true feelings of his soul.  Through all his life this great nature adorned his conversation, and exemplified his conduct.