Mr. Speaker: Truly "in the midst of life we are in death." There is scarcely one of the associates and colleagues of Gen. William H.F. Lee who knew him here and up to the closing days of the late Congress who would have been deterred by the thought of personal risk from exchanging the chances of life or death with him for a few months; and yet, in so short a time the dread summoner, who soon or late is to call us all, has taken him from this life into that which fadeth not, neither does it die.
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing
When blighting was nearest.
Yes, death, the unsolved and unsolvable mystery, has enveloped him, and he has passed from our view never more to be seen and known of men on this earth. But yesterday the living, moving, brave, sympathetic, generous friend, and now, alas, but a memory—and yet a memory dear to all who knew and appreciated his noble attributes of heart and mind; a memory which has left its impress upon his fellow-men for nobility of character; a memory which can not wholly fade, but must influence for good not only his own immediate posterity, but all those who may come after him.
My acquaintance with Gen. Lee began in the early part of the war between the States. It was upon a night march, as we rode with the advance guard of the army, where we might expect at any moment a hostile volley. He related to me in a low impressive tone of voice an experience which had occurred to him when his command by reason of surprise had met with some disaster. What impressed me most at the time was that, although others must have been to some extent culpable, he took all the blame upon himself, and had not a word of complaint for either officer or man who served under him.
This trait of magnanimity, such a splendid companion to personal courage, I found afterwards to be characteristic of the man.
Though springing from a long line of heroic and patriotic ancestors, he had not a particle of pretentious pride, but to all men, privates in the ranks as well as officers, so that they were but brave and good soldiers, he always found "time enough for courtesy." He never tried to appropriate another man's laurels, but he possessed in a high degree that quality of courage which is so well described by Emerson:
Courage, the highest gift, that scorns to bend
To mean devices for a sordid end.
Courage, an independent spark from Heaven's bright throne,
By which the soul stands raised, triumphant, high, alone.
Great in itself, not praises of the crowd,
Above all vice, it stoops not to be proud.
Courage, the mighty attribute of powers above,
By which those great in war are great in love.
The spring of all brave acts is seated here,
As falsehoods draw their sordid birth from fear.
In his friendship he was gentle and tender as one who is full of love and human sympathy. You might have thought him better fitted for the paths of peace, and yet upon the battlefield he was brave as the bravest. Whenever and wherever duty called him his personal safety was by him never considered. Often have I seen him in the thickest of the fight, by his presence and personal direction cheering and encouraging both officers and men. Though the son of the general in chief of the army, he took no favor by it.
He never took advantage of his rank to keep to the rear and send his regiments in. You could always measure his estimate of you by the manner in which he met you. The soul of candor, his heart shone in his eye, and placing a high estimate upon manhood, he loved all in whom he recognized it. For about two years during the latter part of the war I served in his command, and had every opportunity to observe and know him.
My acquaintance with him here was but a revival of old memories. I always loved him as one who—