all the noble hearts whose warm beatings have been stilled by his chilling touch, none ever throbbed on earth again,
" 'The fathers of Texas have left her in the hands of another generation. Is it worthy of the trust? I believe it is. As yet the burden weighs but lightly. But with the swift footsteps of the future there is coming an hour when banded gold, soulless wealth, will oppress the lowlier classes—an event that marks an era in every republic, when leagued capital, not claiming worth or services as its right to sway, but wielding as its scepter only so much yellow dust, seeks to force men to bow to its ignoble supremacy. It is where power passes from the cottage to the palace. History tells not where a republic resisted this fatal influence. In our Republic's life that period is not a great way off. And in that hour Texas will need men—I am speaking now to the young men—to the bright-eyed boys of Texas. In that hour your State will need men, not, oh! not the paid politicians of the present, who seek office for its gold, and not its glory; who trade in honor and traffic in eminence! But she will need statesmen in her councils and warriors on her battle-fields. She will want the mighty in intellect, the grand in soul; more than that—the pure in heart. Do you want an example? Look at the Texas veterans! The mould in which the great are cast is yet unbroken. Let your patriotism be like that of the young Irishman serving in England's armies, who was mortally shot in the breast on a battle-field in Spain. He knew that he would die. While his life-blood ebbed fast away, he thought of the green fields of his country, of his cottage home, of the little fireside group there that he would see never more, and while the hot tears ran down his boyish cheeks, he seized a goblet, and, holding it under his red and gushing wound until it filled with his bright blood, he lilted it on high, watched it glitter a moment in the sunlight, and casting it on the earth, he exclaimed: "O, Erin! my country! would to God that was shed for you!" I believe in my heart that the young men of Texas are worthy of the glorious burden borne by them. Listen not to the serpent hiss of him who would counsel State or national division. He that would wish to dim and divide the splendor of the Lone Star's beams is as little a patriot as one who would seek to shatter the constellation of which Texas is the brightest member. Revere the memory of your forefathers, follow their examples, obey their teachings, and then the deeds commemorated by that monument have not been performed in vain, and the hallowed soil on which it rests will be free forever.'
" A march was next rendered by the band, and then Mr. C. O. Bingham escorted Miss Lula Jockusch to the platform. The histrionic talent of this gifted young lady is well recognized in Galveston, where she has more than once delighted audiences by her rare elocution, but it is not saying one word too much to pronounce her recitation of Miss Mollie E. Moore Davis's poem, published below, a finished work—the true interpretation of a poetic heart fired by the genius of an inspiring occasion. The poem speaks for itself. Mrs. Davis—Mollie E. Moore—is known and loved through all Texas, and her contribution to the event celebrated last evening will beam among the brightest of the gems which she has given to the poetic literature of the South. To both writer and reader the warmest thanks of Galveston will go, for the gracious addition they made to the evening's programme. The poem is reproduced:
