AT KERNCLIFFE
The moment the burdens of official position fell from his shoulders,
Senator Kern’s heart turned to Kerncliffe with a longing to rest with
the family to which he was ardently devoted, and from which he had been
so long separated in the discharge of his senatorial duties. He had
built the house upon the cliff in the hope of frequently joining Mrs.
Kern and the children during the sessions of congress, but these visits
were infrequent and almost invariably cut short by a telegram summoning
him back to Washington. He loved this home in the Blue Ridge, where he
could relax, ramble at will over the hills, and sit in the evenings
holding the hands of his boys. The story of the making of a home on the
cliff is interesting in itself.
The condition of John, Jr., had made it necessary for several years for
the family to escape the inervating heat of the Indianapolis summers in
Michigan, and one morning at the breakfast table, after his election to
the senate, Mr. Kern remarked that if the summer sessions of the senate
continued he did not see how he could be satisfied with the family two
days and a night away from him. Looking up quickly, John, Jr., said:
“Why not go to Grandfather Kern’s place in the mountains of Virginia?
Perhaps it’s as cool there, and I would gain as much as in Michigan.”
The thought had never occurred to the Kerns, but in ten minutes it was
arranged that they should go to Virginia to test the practicability of
the plan upon the ground. Many times, in other years, while strolling
about over the thousand acres, they had noted a particular ridge as an
ideal site for a home, but they had never so much as ascended to the
top. The result of the inspection was a determination to build a “shack”
and try it out one summer. Reaching the place at noon, where they were
met by a man with a movable saw mill and a mountain carpenter, the
contract had been let by 6 o’clock for the sawing of thirty thousand
feet of lumber, the place for the house had been staked off and the
carpenter had been engaged. Without blue prints or architectural plans,
Mrs. Kern planned her house that afternoon, and when it was found that
the lumber would cost so little it was decided to “spread the house all
over the hill.” The rock for the foundation was found in their own
mountain, beautiful white sand was to be had in abundance in their own
creek bottom, and the sandstone for the fireplace, with shades of pink
running through it, was found on their own ground--the thousand acres of
woods, rocks and rough places. When Senator Kern’s term in the senate
expired, a hundred acres--thanks to Mrs. Kern’s energy and
initiative--had been cleared and ditched for cultivation. For a
description of the house I am indebted to the pen of Mrs. Juliet V.
Strauss, well known as “The Country Contributor” to the readers of _The
Ladies’ Home Journal_ and _The Indianapolis News_. This brilliant woman,
an intimate friend of the Kerns, after a visit to Kerncliffe, wrote her
impressions under the title, “The House That Araminta (Mrs. Kern)
Built.”
“I have never been anywhere in my life,” she wrote, “where there
are as many superlative comforts as there are at Kerncliffe,
Araminta’s summer home in Virginia. My idea of comfort does not
comprise the rich woman’s typification of luxury. I do not want
things too fine--and I do not like a servant at my elbow. The
presence of a great retinue of servants always hints of the
undertaker.... Araminta is the best mixer I ever saw, and her
‘mixing’ is not affectation--it is greatness. For greatness finds
its crucial test in knowing how to be common in the big sense of
the word. If you are tried in the balance by a hair’s breadth of
snobbery or of preference for the effeminacy of luxury, you are
really further from being great than if you missed some of the
finer points of art or the subtler qualities of kindness.
“Nobody who wasn’t great in spirit could have chosen this breezy
wooded knoll between two mountain ranges and built a house with as
many delectable things about it as Kerncliffe. It is a great thing
to know what you want and get it--so many of us do not--but
Araminta is that way--she knows what she wants.
“There is a living room forty feet long with a huge stone fireplace
and wicker furniture, books and piano and a victrola--and doors and
windows opening up vistas of tree tops and mountain and valley.
There’s a dining room in blue and white--also with a big fireplace;
there’s a sitting room for the boys with their own books and
treasures and a big fireplace; there’s a kitchen that would do your
soul good, where we all go and cook and eat if we want to; and
there’s Sunset porch where we eat supper and watch the sun go down
behind the mountain.
“But up-stairs! Up-stairs there are four sleeping porches, and the
birds in the tree tops are always calling, and far into the
tranquil night with the accompaniment of just the faintest leaf
whisper the whippoorwill trills a contralto serenade.
“Just now a bob-white is about to drive me mad with his calling
from the wheat field. I know he says ‘Judge White,’ because my
brother, dead--long dead, long dead--seems somehow conscious of my
spiritual altitude--my exultation in these lovely surroundings.
“How I love the wild things that grow on the mountain and along the
waysides in the cove. The blooming laurel, the huckleberry brush,
the sweet climbing and vining things, and the smell of the hot sun
on the dwarf pines. Every little growing thing seems intimate to me
as though my soul had wandered here for centuries and had just run
back to welcome me.
“Up-stairs there is a den quite like my own at home. I do sincerely
pity people who haven’t a little sheet-iron stove in their den. No
matter how your house is heated, there is a primitive joy that
exhales from the little sheet-iron stove on a cold morning or a
rainy day which even transcends the comfort of a fireplace.
Araminta would not be wholly great if she didn’t have one in a room
where the rug and couch are shabby--it would spoil everything if
they were not shabby--and the chairs have a pleasant sag in them,
suggestive of agreeable family loafing.
“Every place where there ought to be there’s a window or a glass
door. I never saw so many ways of letting in the breezes and for
shutting them off if you want to as this house affords.
“I had my choice of two rooms. One is furnished in gray and mauve
and has a beautiful view from the sleeping porch. The other is
furnished in green with antique mahogany furniture--Napoleon bed,
highboy with glass knobs--sewing table and lovely chairs; view from
the sleeping porch not quite so good. Now which do you think I
chose?
“There are dozens of little sanctuaries where one may write or read
in pleasant or in tempestuous weather. Ever so many little lookout
rest places with bench to invite the soul. There is Tree Top
House--way up in an oak tree--a charming little house with a
lookout tower in the tree top, where the leaves make an excited
pattering of gossip for the visitor. And then the lodge. Why
doesn’t everybody have a lodge? Its uses are legion. Such a place
for ‘nerves,’ or for pouting, or for reading, or thinking--such a
glorious place to slip off from the youngsters and play long
sessions of bridge.
“Oh, Nerve Cheesewright, why can’t you take a leaf out of
Araminta’s book and do some things you want to do? If you were
here. But, never mind, I am not going to repine; this place has
exactly the effect upon me which I always find at the seashore--a
sense of utter detachment from the folks and the things I love--a
mere joy in breathing that precludes all sorrow.
“Araminta was far too clever to choose too deep solitude for her
lodge in a vast wilderness. She needs people and she surely has
them.
“Roanoke is the most progressive city in Virginia--a bustling,
busy, modern city, with no distinct flavor of the old régime in its
business life. All sorts of progressive people are there. Only in
the home of these splendid ancient families which have survived the
war, the reconstruction period and the fatal ‘boom’ of the New
South and come out stronger and better for it does one find the
indestructible atmosphere of old Virginia, exquisite and
indescribable unless you know Sarah and her folks--but this one is
all about Araminta--Araminta who drew her own plans and stood over
the carpenters and made them build her house her way and thus give
to it the irregularity and felicitous crudeness which is its
greatest charm.
“As to folks--there is a lovely diversity of them here. Virginia
has always been rich in folks. Araminta has for neighbors the
cosmopolitan folks of Roanoke, the wonderful and noble people from
the nearby college at Hollins, and the plain, sturdy farmers of the
Cove. Many books might be written about all of them. Each
neighborhood represents a phase of life, and Araminta rejoices in
her friendship with all of them.
“The college is a little world in itself--‘green little world
amidst the desert sands’ of life is an expression that fitly
describes any place made beautiful by fine ideals and fine
externals. Hollins is an historic place, for many years devoted to
the higher education of women. The atmosphere of such a place is
felt palpably in the vicinity, but it is of the people here in the
Cove that I wish to speak particularly. Their little farms--their
quaint homesteads--cling to the feet of the mountain and suggest
romances such as John Fox or Lucy Furman might write. We went to a
little white church at the foot of the mountain yesterday. I never
did see such a flood of June sunshine as filled the Cove and made
the Blue Ridge seem a deeper hue.”
It was to this home, these scenes, these people, that Senator Kern
turned for rest and inspiration during the long, dreary grind of his
senatorial career. And the moment on his way from Hollins, four miles
distant from Kerncliffe, in crossing the foot of Tinker mountain, he
reached the highest point on his journey, and saw the lower part of the
valley of Virginia spread out before him in all its exquisite beauty, he
was revived. On these visits he spent his time resting on the sleeping
porches, reading, or tramping the hills. On these tramps he put on the
garb of a mountain climber and carried a heavy cane as a protection
against any snakes he might encounter. He was a keen lover of natural
beauty, and on his tramps he seldom failed to uncover some hitherto
hidden treasure--a little stream, a water-fall, some unique rock, or
some variety of tree he had not known to be upon the place. Sometimes he
went forth with ax and hatchet to help in the clearing of the land, and
these implements were put away when he left to await his return.
Is it remarkable that he looked forward with infinite longing for
Kerncliffe on his retirement from the senate? Here was his family. At
Roanoke, near by, was his daughter Julia, wife of Dr. George Lawson, and
little son. The great shadow that rested upon him at the time was
concern over his health. He had so overtaxed his strength during the
four years of constant vigilance as leader of the senate that his system
had been unable to throw off the cold he had contracted and along with
loss of weight and strength, his voice remained alarmingly husky. He was
finally persuaded to go to the sanatorium at Asheville, North Carolina,
for treatment, and on March 23, nineteen days after leaving the
[Illustration: Kerncliffe]
[Illustration: With the Boys at Kerncliffe]
senate we find him writing a characteristic letter to John, Jr.:
“ASHEVILLE, N. C., March 23, 1917.
“MY DEAR BOY:
“When I sent Mr. Brooks’ letter I had not yet received the _Brooks
School News_ containing accounts of your splendid record, a sample
of your fine work, and telling of the esteem in which you are held
by your teachers and fellow students. It’s a great thing to have
such things to your credit, and I can’t tell you how proud I am of
you, and how much joy I derived from reading the paper. It is great
to have ability and pluck to conquer one’s way through the
obstacles which are always present in school work, and all other
kinds of work, but it is greater still to make the fight in such a
way as to command the respect and love of your comrades, and all of
those most closely associated with you. You should be happy in the
knowledge that you are a great comfort to your parents and have
convinced them that you are to live a life of usefulness which will
bring honor to yourself and happiness to them.
“Of course there is lots of work before you yet, but you have
demonstrated your ability to meet successfully whatever may come.
“I am hoping to be with you before very long. You may be sure I
shall come as soon as I can.
“I hope my other dear boy is well by this time. He has good stuff
in him, too, and I am sure will make a great success of life.
“Love to all my dear ones. I can’t quite tell you how dear you all
are to me.
“Affectionately,
“YOUR FATHER.”
Doctor Von Ruck, after an examination, thought it possible that by
ridding him of his cold and catarrh he might be “straightened out,”
though he thought it doubtful, and we find Kern writing home, “I suppose
I will stay here until there is a marked improvement,” wistfully adding,
“I would certainly like to be with you at Kerncliffe and be pottering
around the place there instead of wandering around in the woods here.”
He found life pleasant enough at Asheville but for the longing for home.
His health gradually improved, his cough diminished, and he was able to
take long walks in the woods, and to do much reading and writing. Aside
from his desire for Kerncliffe he was constantly harassed by the feeling
that he could not afford to do nothing, with expenses going on, for he
had given too much of his life to the public to have accumulated as he
might, had he been more selfish. I had a letter from him from Asheville
saying that he found he “did not respond to treatment as readily as he
did ten years before,” and would probably be there indefinitely, and
within ten days the report appeared in the press that he was in
Washington. The story of May, June and July is told in detail in a
letter to me--the last--written July 24th:
“I have been sick almost continuously since the 5th of this
month--so sick that I have been unable to pay any attention to
correspondence. I think I wrote you from Asheville, where I spent a
few weeks in April and May. I went from there to Washington the
forepart of May to meet Theodore Bell on a law matter of some
importance. About that time I had a proposition from the Lincoln
Chautauqua Association to fill the vice-president’s thirty-one
engagements with that association in seven southern states, or as
many as might be made before the adjournment of congress,
commencing May 17th, and speaking every day, including Sundays, on
the international situation--the aim and duties of patriotic
Americans.
“The doctor advised against it, but I thought I would try it, and
if I found it too much for me, I would quit. So before leaving
Washington I called on President Wilson that he might give me a
special message to the southern people--which he did--and that, I
suppose, is the basis of the story that I was out speaking for the
president on the food supply.
“I started on May 17th with two speeches in east Tennessee. I think
I can give you my itinerary from memory: May 17th, Kingsport,
Tenn.; 18th, Greenville, Tenn.; 19th, Cartersville, Ga.; 20th,
Gainesville, Ga.; 21st, Monroe, Ga.; 22d, Covington, Ga.; 23d,
Carrollton, Ga.; 24th, Decatur, Ala.; 25th, McMinnoitte, Tenn.;
26th, Tullahoma, Tenn.; 27th, Athens, Ala.; 28th, Anniston, Ala.;
29th, Meridian, Miss.; 30th, Gulfport, Miss.; 31st, New Orleans,
La.; June 1st, Lafayette, La.; 2d, Alexandria, La.; 3d, Mansfield,
La.; 4th, Shreveport, La.; 5th, Monroe, La.; 6th, Ruston, La.; 7th,
Vicksburg, Miss.; 8th, Clarksdale, Miss.; 9th, Helena, Ark.; 10th,
Bunkley, Ark.; 11th, Covington, Tenn.; 12th, Dyersburg, Tenn.;
13th, Brownsville, Tenn.; 14th, Humboldt, Tenn.; 15th,
Hopkinsville, Ky.; 16th, Frankfort, Ky.; 17th, Carrollton, Ky.--all
of which appointments I filled.
“It was getting pretty hot the end of the first week, and I was
feeling very much fagged and was about ready to throw up the
sponge, when the weather changed, and from that time on every night
was cool (I spoke only at night), and by conserving my strength the
best I could I thought I was stronger on June 17th than when I
commenced.
“I was intending to come from Carrollton, Ky., directly here for a
good long rest, except that in a moment of weakness I had promised
the chautauqua people to open their chautauqua at Battle Creek,
Mich., on June 25th. I had been corresponding with some New York
people about an important legal matter, and when I got to
Frankfort, Ky., on June 16th, I had a telegram from them that they
wanted to see me in Washington the next week--the 19th or 20th.
Mrs. Kern, with whom they had also been in communication, also
wired suggesting that I go to Washington directly from Carrollton
and finish everything so that when I reached home I could stay. So
I wired them that I would be in Washington the following
Tuesday--the 19th and on until Sunday--and I went there. They
couldn’t get ready for the conference that week, and after waiting
in Washington until Sunday I started for Battle Creek, Mich.
“I had tried to get out of that engagement, but the chautauqua
people held me to it, and I went via Fort Wayne and South Bend, and
made my speech at Battle Creek on the 25th. I started for home the
next morning. I took a G. R. & I. at Kalamazoo and spent the
hottest day of my life going to Cincinnati (through Fort Wayne
again). I there had to take an upper berth to Roanoke and got to
Hollins at noon the next day, pretty much played out.
“I rested all afternoon, slept next day until 10 o’clock, and while
eating breakfast with Mrs. Kern about 10:30 and discussing with her
the good times we were going to have, the telephone rang and here
came a long distance message from my New York parties that their
business was ripe, and that it was of the highest importance that I
should meet them in Washington the next morning. Well ... I took
the noon train for Washington.
“I met the parties the next morning and I concluded it would take
ten days to dispose of the business and made arrangements to stay.
We got it going in good shape when I was taken sick. For two days I
had high fever and was confined to my room, but the doctor was with
me every day, and I would get out for an hour and take a pull at my
case, and so on until we had gone as far as we could at the present
time. The doctor fixed me up and told me that when I got to
Kerncliffe and relaxed I would be all right.
“Well, I came here and relaxed and at the same time collapsed, and
was very sick for several days and have not been away from the
house yet. The doctor was out to see me to-day and says I am much
improved, but that I had so overtaxed myself for two months it
would take a good while for me to get back to my normal strength.
“Now that is a true account of my doings since May 1st, written
down with more or less difficulty to the end that ‘the truth of
history may be vindicated’.... You can never complain now that I
have never written you a long letter. I did not know I had the
strength or the nerve to string one out to this length when I
began.”
It is characteristic of the man that during his really serious illness
in Washington he concealed it from his family; quite as characteristic
that in the midst of his illness, with the doctor calling daily, and he
by sheer will power dragging himself from his bed for an hour’s “pull”
at an important legal matter, did not lose sight of the fact that the
birthday of John, Jr., was almost at hand.
“WASHINGTON, July 5, 1917.
“MY DEAR BOY JOHN:
“I hope to be with you on the 7th, but for fear of a slip-up will
send this check ahead, so that your mother will have the use of it
a little earlier.
“It is very hot here, and I have felt the heat more than at any
time this summer. In fact, I haven’t been very well, but nothing
serious, though I have had the doctor a couple of times. I may not
be home until early next week, as I have been thrown back somewhat
by my business. Uncle Roll (Cooper) comes in to see me every day.
“This last has been a proud year for you, as you have carried off
everything in sight. We are all proud of you and love you dearly. I
have no doubt but that new honors and many of them are to be yours
in the future.
“Much love to all,
“YOUR FATHER.”
Even in this letter, written under the conditions described, the
never-failing love of fun crops out in the reference to a family joke
about Mrs. Kern getting the boys’ birthday checks.
After the collapse the serious nature of his illness was so impressed
upon him that he reconciled himself to another absence from Kerncliffe
and the family, and to returning to Asheville for an indefinite stay.
Going by way of Washington he stopped for a day at the Congress Hall
hotel, where he smilingly told Louis Ludlow, the correspondent, that he
was “going to Asheville for a post-graduate course,” and wrote a brief
note to Billy, the younger son, inclosing a birthday check.
“WASHINGTON, August 8, 1917.
“MY DEAR BILLY:
“You are fourteen to-morrow and here is your check. You are now a
great big boy, almost a young man, and I know you are going to be a
good man, for it is in you. When I left you the other night I would
have been glad to have told you how much I loved you and your dear
brother and mother and sister, but I was too full to talk. I doubt
if you will ever know what deep love your father has for all of
you. My earnest prayer is that you boys will grow up to be good,
honest, square, manly men.
“Lovingly,
“YOUR FATHER.”
He stood the trip to Asheville fairly well, but arrived on the morning
of the 9th tired and with his lungs and throat irritated by the smoke of
the numerous tunnels, and with a cough--“not a hard cough, but a hacking
one.” Writing to Mrs. Kern on his arrival he said: “Doctor Von Ruck said
I looked better than he expected to see me and if I would only stay with
him long enough to give him a chance he felt sure he could fix me up,
unless the examination to-morrow develops something unexpected. I told
him I would stay with him this time until he has all the chance he
needs.” On the following day after the examination, and just one week
before his death, he wrote of the result of the examination in the last
letter he ever wrote. The doctor found his lungs in practically the
same condition as in May, but his general condition much worse “owing to
overwork and too great a tax on my energies.” He had lost eight pounds
since leaving the sanatorium in May. It almost instantly developed that
the danger was in his general condition, and as disturbing symptoms
developed and he grew weaker, Mrs. Kern was summoned from Kerncliffe.
His mind was not at rest and he was disturbed in his sleep. The war
distressed him and was constantly in his thoughts. When he fell into a
doze he was busy with his work in the senate, or in making a Labor day
speech which he had promised to deliver the first of September in
Indianapolis. He realized that the end was near. Conscious to the last
his death was peaceful.
The news that flashed over the wires announcing his death was the first
indication most of his friends had that he was seriously ill. Telegrams
from the highest station in the land down to the most humble poured in
upon the stricken family. On the announcement of his death by Senator
New in the senate that body adjourned after placing on the record the
testimony of its appreciation of his life and public services. In
Indiana particularly the shock was great. Press and public men,
regardless of party, hastened to pay tribute to his character. Plans
were being made to have the body lie in state in the rotunda of the
state house, where honor has been paid to Voorhees and Harrison, to Gray
and Fairbanks and other distinguished servants of the commonwealth, when
it was learned that he would be buried at Kerncliffe, where he had so
longed for the opportunity to “rest.” A week after his death a great
throng filled the state house to hear tributes to his memory from
William J. Bryan, former Governor Ralston, and Secretary of State
Jackson, acting for Governor Goodrich, who was ill.
The simple and impressive story of the burial has been told in the
_World News_ of Roanoke:
“The burial of John W. Kern at Kerncliffe yesterday was in keeping
with the character of the man.
“One for whom over 6,000,000 of his fellowmen had cast their votes
for the second highest office in their power to bestow; whom his
own state had ever delighted to honor; who had for four years been
the leader of his, the dominant, party in the senate; who had,
through a great world crisis, been an intimate friend and trusted
counselor of the president; and who had measured up to the full
stature of a man under every test which high office and trying
circumstances could apply to him, was laid to rest in the presence
of a few friends and neighbors and with a burial service of a sweet
and beautiful simplicity appropriate to the strength and gentleness
of his exalted character.
“Had time and circumstances permitted it, the nation would have
chosen to give a patent expression to its sense of loss; his former
colleagues and followers in the congress would have wished to pay
the tribute of their presence, and his casket would have been
covered with a profusion of flowers from the thousands who had
learned to love as well as honor him.
“But his brief illness was not known to many, and even to these his
sudden death was a sad surprise. So when it was decided to bring
his body to his summer home in Carvin’s Cove for burial only a few
friends, made during his occasional brief stays in Virginia, and
his neighbors there in the mountains had opportunity to attend his
funeral.
“These, numbering about 200, assembled at the Kerncliffe home where
the services were conducted under the direction of Dr. George
Braxton Taylor, minister at the nearby Enon Baptist Church, and in
conformity with the senator’s well-known love of simple and
unpretending things. A passage from the Scriptures read by a young
man, friend and tutor to his sons; a prayer by Doctor Taylor, the
singing of ‘Abide With Me’ and ‘Come Ye Disconsolate’ by a few of
the ladies from Hollins, a few words from the heart of his friend,
Mr. Lucien H. Cocke, telling of his life and its great service,
followed by the removal of the body to the grave, where Mr. Joseph
A. Turner closed the service with appropriate prayer, and the body
of John W. Kern was laid to its last and perfect rest.
“It was at sunset above the waters of Carvin’s Creek, on one of
the western foothills of Tinker Mountain that he was buried; there
he himself had spent many of the days of his early youth; there he
had hoped to find an age of rest from his long life of generous and
untiring service to his country; and there he sleeps to-day.
“‘I lift up mine eyes to the hills from whence cometh my strength,’
says the Psalmist. So in all ages have said the nations of the
world in their hours of trial. The strength of those great
mountains woven into the warp and woof of his sturdy ancestry was
John Kern’s heritage; the serene peace of their silent places was
typified in the quality of calmness which was so marked in him; in
his heart was the low deep music of their murmuring waters, and in
his soul was the majesty of those everlasting hills.
“A sweet, a gentle, and withal a masterful life has come to its
close, a nation has lost a leader and a statesman, a family has
lost a father and a friend; and in the quiet peace of that secluded
valley lies his weary body, now at rest, but the influence of his
great, strong, simple, unpretentious manhood can not die.”
Here on a high slope overlooking a little bottom land that he had helped
to clear is his grave, covered with daisies and wild roses, and marked
by a great rough native sandstone monument, bearing the inscription
written by John W. Kern, Jr.--“Here lies in Peace, the body of John
Worth Kern; Resting after the Labors of a Life Lived for the Welfare of
the People.”
In no more appropriate way could this story of such a life be closed
than with the tribute of William B. Wilson, secretary of labor, the
highest official representative of the working masses of America, whose
champion he was; who knew him not only as the consistent friend of
social justice, but from his position as a member of President Wilson’s
cabinet, knew him as a potential leader of the new day that dawned when
Woodrow Wilson first took the oath of office:
“When a great man dies, it is easy to indulge in the usual and
obvious language of eulogy, but when personal knowledge of his
nobility of character is added to the respect and admiration
inspired by his whole career, then words of praise become a labor
of love, and through the very fullness of affection, it is
difficult to give the feelings of the heart adequate expression.
“So in speaking of John Worth Kern. He belonged to a race of
statesmen whose type and example was Abraham Lincoln. These unite
simplicity and sincerity with ability and power. They are rugged
and strong like the hills, genial and fruitful like the prairies,
and like all these qualities of nature, honest.
“Throughout a long and distinguished public career which attained
to eminence in the history of his country, Senator Kern never
wavered from his early ideals. Like all constructive men, he
endeavored to adapt them to the necessities and requirements of a
changing age, but he maintained them in their integrity to the
last. They became part of the strong structure of better
things--better because John Worth Kern lived.
“That in itself would be a great and satisfying tribute; but he had
so many other endearing qualities that reminiscent affection is not
content with the utterance of merely historical appreciation. He
was not only loyal to his principles, he was in all right ways
loyal to his friends. He had a fine courage of loyalty also. He
would, whenever occasion demanded, give battle to aid a friend or
uphold a principle; nor did he ever grudge patient and laborious
toil to accomplish either result.
“Throughout the strenuous years of his mature manhood--nearly half
a century of public life--his voice was always for the just and
humane treatment of the toiling millions. It adds the element of
pathos to our appreciation, to remember that for most of this time
he struggled not only against the handicap of slender financial
resources, but also against the disadvantages of delicate health.
“It is an inspiration when we think how much, notwithstanding these
drawbacks, he accomplished. His name is written large in the annals
of this age. He was a force for civic righteousness, for true
progress, and for the nobler destiny of man.
“It is with deep personal regard and affection I pen these lines.
They are written in sincere and simple tribute to one of whom truly
it can be said--
“‘None knew him but to love him,
None named him but to praise.’”
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
the silk tile=> the silk tie {pg 33}
done reguarly=> done regularly {pg 65}
ony one in Indiana=> any one in Indiana {pg 79}
intimately indentified=> intimately identified {pg 204}
frequent susceptibilty=> frequent susceptibility {pg 229}
The speech was delivered in four parts on four separate days, and when
he began the delivery of the first part nothing of that which had been
prepared was to be delivered in the second part had been prepared.=> The
speech was delivered in four parts on four separate days, and when he
began the delivery of the first part nothing of that which had been
prepared was to be delivered in the second part. {pg 246}
considerabe momentum=> considerable momentum {pg 275}
the Democracization=> the Democratization {pg 293}
speak in Indianapois=> speak in Indianapolis {pg 386}
required to chose=> required to choose {pg 395}
spirit of christianity=> spirit of Christianity {pg 409}
Two midle-aged Indiana=> Two middle-aged Indiana {pg 418}
political campaings=> political campaigns {pg 445}
language of euolgy=> language of eulogy {pg 473}