God, I humbly trust, did so bless them all—the eighty-year-old woman on the Pacific slope who sent a kerchief of her own making; the noble ladies across the Atlantic who promptly gave their honored names and their money; the little boy whose curly head I could see, moving among the crowd soliciting pennies for the orphans; the good woman whose head had grown gray beneath the crown of England.
But especially I wish, I pray, all blessings for the band of dear women who, coming often in rain and storm, worked with me from morning until night to help build a shelter for Galveston's homeless orphans.
Judge Roger A. Pryor in 1900.
CHAPTER XLIII
The years which had brought me such interesting work were full years also to my dear general. In June, 1888, he delivered an address to the graduating class at the Albany Law School—an address so inspiring, so highly commended at the time, that it should not be lost. He had been all his life intimately acquainted with the great legal lights abroad. They had given him his first aspirations, and been his inspired teachers ever after. And yet he could truthfully tell the American student:—
"Nor need we travel abroad for examples and illustrations of forensic oratory in its highest perfection; for in the sublime passion of Patrick Henry, in the gorgeous vehemence of Choate, in the brilliant and abounding fancy of Prentiss, and in the majestic simplicity of Webster, we find at home every beauty and every power of eloquence displayed with an effect not inferior to the achievements of the mighty masters of antiquity."
Diligently as he studied his profession, he found time for lighter, but not perhaps really more congenial, occupations. From time to time he addressed college societies on literary themes. He wrote for the North American Review, the Forum, and the "Encyclopædia Britannica." Like his public addresses, his writing was said to display ripe scholarship and a clear, polished style. The highest note was never too high for him!
He would have had to be "made all over again," had he felt no interest in politics. He was born, as he often declared, "a Presbyterian and a Democrat," and he never faltered in allegiance to either. "Oh, God guide us aright," prayed a member of the body that framed the Westminster Catechism, "for thou knowest we are very determined." Having set out in one direction, the worthy brother doubted the power of the Almighty himself to alter his course!