FREDERICK DOUGLASS.
.MEMORIAL ADDRESS DELIVERED IX ATLANTA, GA.
Xone but himself can be his parallel.— Theobald.
Ilium aget penna metuente solvi
Fama seperstes.
—Horace.
Frederick Douglass is dead! How strange that
sounds to those of us who from earliest bovhood have
been accustomed to hear him spoken of as the living
exponent of all that is noblest and best in the race.
The mind reluctantly accepts the unwelcome truth.
And yet it is a truth—a serious, a solemn truth.
Frederick Douglass is no more. The grand old hero
of a thousand battles has at last fallen before the
shaft of the common destroyer, and upon his well-
battered shield loving hands have tenderly borne that
stalwart form to its last, long resting place. Earth
to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes !
And is that all? Nay, verily, I tell you, no ordi¬
nary piece of clay has been laid away in the silent
tomb. No mean or craven spirit has suddenly taken
its flight. A character so imposing, so colossal in its
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