I say that he had studied, and he had, the real Saxon liberty, the acquirement of our liberty, and Jack used to repeat some verses—­I don’t know where they came from, but I thought of them to-day when I saw that letter—­that that boy could have been talking of himself in those quoted lines from that unknown poet: 

               “For he had sat at Sidney’s feet
               And walked with him in plain apart,
               And through the centuries heard the beat
               Of Freedom’s march through Cromwell’s heart.”

And he was that kind of a boy.  He should have lived, and yet he should not have lived, because he died at that early age—­he couldn’t have been more than twenty—­he had seen all there was to see in the world that was worth the trouble of living in it; he had seen all of this world that is valuable; he had seen all of this world that was illusion, and illusion, is the only valuable thing in it.  He had arrived at that point where presently the illusions would cease and he would have entered upon the realities of life, and God help the man that has arrived at that point.

ACCIDENT INSURANCE—­ETC.

          Deliveredin Hartford, at A dinner to Cornelius Walford,
          of London

Gentleman,—­I am glad, indeed, to assist in welcoming the distinguished guest of this occasion to a city whose fame as an insurance centre has extended to all lands, and given us the name of being a quadruple band of brothers working sweetly hand in hand—­the Colt’s arms company making the destruction of our race easy and convenient, our life-insurance citizens paying for the victims when they pass away, Mr. Batterson perpetuating their memory with his stately monuments, and our fire-insurance comrades taking care of their hereafter.  I am glad to assist in welcoming our guest—­first, because he is an Englishman, and I owe a heavy debt of hospitality to certain of his fellow-countrymen; and secondly, because he is in sympathy with insurance, and has been the means of making many other men cast their sympathies in the same direction.

Certainly there is no nobler field for human effort than the insurance line of business—­especially accident insurance.  Ever since I have been a director in an accident-insurance company I have felt that I am a better man.  Life has seemed more precious.  Accidents have assumed a kindlier aspect.  Distressing special providences have lost half their horror.  I look upon a cripple now with affectionate interest—­as an advertisement.  I do not seem, to care for poetry any more.  I do not care for politics—­even agriculture does not excite me.  But to me now there is a charm about a railway collision that is unspeakable.