It will be remembered by all who have watched the case, that the “Dolphin” was found satisfactory and in full accordance with the terms of the contract by one naval board, and that it was then condemned by another board of no greater weight or capacity.  If this fact be remembered, it should be weighed with the full understanding that naval officers, chosen by Mr. Whitney for this service, are just as much dependents of the new Secretary as their predecessors were of Mr. Chandler.  The last set of officials, as experts, were not superior to those which constituted the first; and yet Mr. Whitney bases his refusal to accept the vessel upon the contradiction of the first report to the second.  If the first report was worthless, why not the second, in the light of all the facts?

What is needed to-day is a board of examiners fully competent to pronounce on the merits, of not only the “Dolphin” but of any and every other ship that shall be built, and fully sundered from, and independent of, political and official relations with the Navy Department.  The nearest approach to this is the report of the body of experts—­ship-builders, and ship-captains, experts in ship’s materials, and the like—­whom Mr. Roach invited to examine the “Dolphin.”  The report of these gentlemen flatly contradicts Mr. Whitney’s board on points which are matters of fact, and not of opinion, and therefore throws the burden of proof upon Mr. Whitney himself.  Until some equally unpolitical and unofficial body refutes it, the treatment Mr. Roach has received will be set down to other motives than the best.

* * * * *

The republic at last bows its head in sorrow at the death of its greatest citizen.  In awe and admiration it honors the character which, heroic to the last, has never been more conspicuously shown than during the months of that depressing illness, the end of which must have been to him a welcome entering into rest.

The same unquailing courage, and the same calm, grim fortitude which shed their fadeless lustre upon his whole extraordinary career were evinced by General Grant at the last moments of his life.  For months the nation has hung over his bedside, awaiting the silent foot-fall of the unseen conqueror of all that is mortal.

The nation’s loss is not measured by the vacant place.  For nearly a decade General Grant had been only a private citizen, wielding no sceptre of authority, and exercising no sway in the public councils.  And yet his going is a loss; for he was everywhere felt, not merely by what he had done, but by what he was,—­one of the great reserve forces of our national commonwealth.

“Great men,” said Burke, “are the guideposts and landmarks of the State.”  General Grant was the guidepost of a victorious war, and a landmark of a magnanimous peace.  A pillar of strength has fallen; and yet a broken shaft is not the fit emblem of his life.  It is a finished and splendid column, crowned with its full glory.