Fancy Sir Edward Thornton carrying this cup to his aristocratic lips at an entertainment given to royalty! Will not motherly Philadelphia or her sister city New York open the doors of hospitality and retrieve Washington from her niggardly disgrace? Not that the people of the capital are in fault, but a grave charge lies somewhere. Let exposure do its work.
Olivia.
[SAMUEL F. B. MORSE.]
Memorial Services Held At The Capitol.
Washington, April 17, 1872.
Because we have no Westminster Abbey, or other royal sleeping place when genius passes away, we have memorial services held at the capital of the nation, under the shadow of the dome and the Goddess of Liberty. No man since the Saviour was born has ever had such obsequies follow him to the grave as the plain citizen of a Republic who has just passed away. The ceiling of the House of Representatives had been pierced, and numerous wires were seen suspended from the wall, and these ended below the Speaker’s desk, where an electric instrument was placed that transferred to those present that throb of sympathy which alone makes the world akin. The voices of seventy cities of the Union were heard speaking in the Hall of Representatives, for Professor Morse had given to each a tongue of flame. Click, click, click; from the bed of mighty waters came the sob of the Old World. London sent her condolence, dated many hours subsequent to our time. April the sixteenth was dead and gone in England, but on the wings of the lightning came the intelligence of an unborn day. From Europe, Egypt, China, flashed sympathy with this nation because a simple American citizen had gone to his eternal home. In the self-same spot where all this tribute was paid to his memory he had once stood—poor, obscure, and alone, working out the solemn problem which should revolutionize the world.
On the floor of the House of Representatives might have been seen political strength, the judicial ermine, poet, painter, scholar, and humble citizen, and from the galleries looked down the womanly element of the Republic. First of all came President Grant, with his square, immovable face. At his side walked Secretary Fish, whose comeliness will ever furnish a theme for song and story. Then came Secretary Belknap, with a presence sufficiently warm and attractive to keep the whole Cabinet from spoiling for the want of caloric; then clear-cut Secretary Boutwell. Behind the Cabinet might have been seen the ponderous Supreme Judges, and their presence proved that the Creator worked regardless of material when he constructed these excellent men. On the Speaker’s stand stood the men whose speeches were to honor the great man whose memory was to be embalmed. Speaker Blaine sat in his accustomed seat, with Vice-President Colfax at his right hand.
Speaker Blaine touched his desk with his gavel, and silence fell upon those congregated there. Then softly upon the ear sounded the silver voice of Professor Morse’s aged pastor in solemn prayer, a simple petition, such as men utter when their feet have almost reached the other shore. After the Marine Band had been heard, Sunset Cox made some remarks, and these were followed by a lengthy biography from Senator Patterson, which was altogether too long to be read when so much that was equally interesting was to follow.