May it Please the Court:-As a distant relative of the bar of Beadle County, if I were to fail to contribute a few words (however inadequate they may be) to the memory of him, whom we have assembled here today to do honor unto his name, I should consider that I had neglected a duty which I owe the dead. The observance of such ceremonies as this is not a modern custom. The ancient Greeks and Romans were wont to gather around their fallen heroes, and recount their virtues and the trophies they had won. Memorials in brass and marble, in undying verse and imperishable utterances have come down through all ages to inspire the ambition of youth, and stir the pulse of manhood. More than three thousand years ago a monument was erected, by Divine direction, on the shores of the Jordan, of stone taken from the bed of the river where the feet of the priests had stood, which should be a memorial unto Israel forever. And, Your Honor, it is befitting that we should pause, for a brief moment, amid the cares of life, and mark the foot prints of those who have attained a worthy prominence among us. And while we have a garland of flowers to deck the grave of our dead brother, we should not lose sight of those circumstances, which bring to us the lesson of our own mortality, and the claims of our spiritual nature. There is but one thing sure in man's life, and that is this: that he shall lose it. It was but a few months ago that William B. Sterling stood upon the platform of life, blessed by Nature with a commanding form and a most striking presence. He seemed, as in fact, one of "Nature's Noblemen." In this outward garb of manly beauty there was enclosed a brilliant intellect and a genial heart. But, alas! Your Honor, less than sixty days ago, that stalwart physique, that robust manhood, bowed before the cycle of time, and today, the cold and pulseless form sleeps the sleep that knows no waking, in the silent seclusion of the grave, at his boyhood home, beneath the light of an Illinois sun, where kind and loving hands laid it; and, as we breathe a tribute to its memory, his spirit is marching on in the great unknown, while the living human soul cries aloud, Oh Death, where is thy pity! Your Honor-I shall not indulge in any fulsome adulation upon the life and character of our dead brother, because I did not enjoy that intimate relation with him that others did. But, in the common walk of life's battle, my intercourse was sufficient to enable me to perceive and appreciate those qualities of mind, which |