of the Union was the precept of the creed at whose altars he worshiped. He threw aside with lofty disdain the vain conceit of an unwritten constitution which is bewildering the minds of some of our modern statesmen.

He stood upon this basic principle of a constitution with delegated and enumerated powers; and in so far as he was concerned, the billows of political opposition and adversity beat in vain against the bulwark he had reared. His political record affords an example worthy of the profoundest study and the closest emulation. Men like him, Mr. President, do not perish; they perish from the face of the earth, but they live upon the pages of immortality. I mean not merely that their names are honored and their deeds remembered, but that the impression that they have made is indelibly stamped upon the course of history. Their work becomes so interwoven with the spheres of action in which they labor that long after their departure the creation of their minds, even if not written upon the page of history, stamps itself imperishably upon succeeding generations. If the night of forgetfulness and decadence should ever overtake us in our political wanderings, names like his should light and lure us back to the paths of honor and of duty, as they flash and sparkle on the firmament.

It must not be inferred, however, Mr. President, from anything I have said that his political career was a placid one. Calmness and tranquillity were not the usual accompaniments of political contests when he led us on to battle in Maryland. Those were days of tumult and contention, when bitter charges were made, and feelings were inflamed, but through it all no one ever attacked the honor of the man. Let it be written down that no personal charge of opprobrium or of dishonor was ever brought against him by his most malignant foe. In one of these contests he fought almost single-handed. There was opposed to him an array of brilliant talent, comprising the flower of the Maryland bar, the foremost men upon the

forum's field. A compromise was suggested before the lists were closed, but he refused to yield.

He was of heroic mold and whether it be right or wrong, there was one political virtue in which he always gloried, and that was his gratitude to his friends. He did not belong to the school of statesmen who believe in using men to further their ambition and then sacrifice them when the occasion demanded it. He was not a theorist or an ingrate in politics, but his blood was warm for those who served him. In this contest he was the center of the storm and the shining mark of the enemy, and he went down to defeat. Defeat did not dismay him and reverses did not intimidate him; and while his friends were still mourning over the disaster, he sprang unsullied back again to the hearts and confidence of the people, and there was no honor with which they could have endowed him that was not at his disposal.

I will not dwell upon the surroundings of his home. He possessed the deepest devotion for his family; and while he never had any ambition to accumulate a large fortune, he was always solicitous for those around him and seemed to be perfectly satisfied if he was able to provide for them every comfort and indulgence they desired. In his own habits he was abstemious to a degree of absolute forbearance, and he pursued a life of self-denial and sacrifice that is rarely to be met with. There was something exquisite about the love he bore to those who were dear to him and the tender and touching care that he bestowed upon them. I was with him at one of the saddest scenes of his life, when his heart was rent in twain with grief and sorrow. I can never forget the way he bore his affliction. It was not the callous philosophy of stoicism. It was an absolute resignation and submission with a spirit of sublime fortitude to the Divine will that left an impression upon me that I can never erase and that has often made me feel that of all his virtues I would rather possess this one, so

that, imitating him when the shades of night are gathering around my fireside, my spirit could arise above the gloom and behold in its dying embers the reflected vision of a reunited home.

His was the philosophy of faith that never permitted him to question the great truths that are alone worth living and struggling and dying for, and without which human life would only culminate in despair. These truths were axiomatic with him. He never discussed them or allowed himself to doubt them, and he passed upon his journey to the shoreless sea with an unerring confidence in their realization that no reasoning could shake and no visitation of Providence could impair; and without which belief, human life would be but the involuntary outcome of a cruel fate, absolutely purposeless and meaningless, with not one ray of Divine love to illumine the impenetrable mystery.

Upon one occasion a great philosopher said to a great scientist:

Your belief in a personal creator and in a future state is at war with your profession; it is all a myth and a fable, and you can not reconcile one with the other.

The answer came:

Well, even if it be a fable, which I do not believe, it has led me to a better and a purer life. I cherish the ambition that this fable shall be my dying dream, and I will follow it to the grave.

Governor WHYTE in his religious belief was a man of the deepest devotion and the most profound convictions. While as a statesman he worshiped the cardinal principles of the Constitution, he, as a firm believer in the responsibility of man to God, followed with unfaltering footsteps to his end the cardinal principles of his faith and his church. In every step of his illustrious career there predominated that which is greater than anything he ever did, and that was his unyielding spirit of honor and integrity, which, with the great moral purpose that per

vaded his life, enabled him to resist every possible temptation to swerve from the path of duty. He was honest to such a point of delicacy and refinement in his professional intercourse with his clients that he hardly ever placed a proper estimate upon the valued services that he performed for them, and in his public life no one would ever have dared by any form of allurement, even in the remotest degree, to attempt to influence him in the discharge of his public functions.

Thus he lived and thus he died. With us his place will not be filled in the present day at least. It would be difficult to emulate or imitate him, because Providence had given him a combination of virtues and of talents that rarely work in harmony with each other. He needs no monument to commemorate his life. In due time, however, I suppose our State will erect some memento in grateful acknowledgment of his services in her behalf. Such a testimonial, while it would perpetuate his memory, is not necessary to elevate him in the respect or esteem in which he was held by the community among whom he passed his days. His life needs no legend or inscription to adorn it. He has built his own memorial. He has written upon the "eternal skies" the record of a stainless name.

OBSERVATIONS UPON THE TARIFF.

In this address, delivered May 31, 1909, Senator Rayner took note of the disorganization of the tariff forces of the Senate by the militant insurgents, and predicted the downfall of the "citadel of protection."

My remarks will take about twenty-seven minutes. Onehalf of this time will be devoted to a brief narrative which I know will be entirely harmless and inoffensive. The balance of the twenty-seven minutes will be occupied with matters a little more grave and serious.

I propose to make a few observations upon the citadel of protection. The other day the Senator from Rhode Island, when a great speech had been delivered attacking the rates of duty in the woolen and cotton schedules, remarked that to change those schedules would destroy the very citadel of protection.

I want to look inside of this citadel now for a moment and see what things are going on from day to day. Never in my experience was a citadel in such a state of tumult and commotion. The Senator from Rhode Island is upon the upper floor, and with him are his warriors. The din and clatter are on the floors beneath. I was gazing at the classic features of the senior Senator from Massachusetts the other day when there was the usual uproar in the citadel. The sturdy recruit from Kansas was hammering away at the lead schedule, and it seemed to disturb the tranquillity and repose of the senior Senator from Massachusetts. He appeared to be almost upon the point of prostration and collapse, when the senior Senator from New Hampshire, who is the surgeon of the post and is always ready with his remedies and nostrums, arose to administer a stimulant to the Senator from Massachusetts, who quickly revived under its exhilerating effect.

I observed upon another day, when everything seemed serene upon the upper floor, that suddenly the nerves of the senior Senator from Rhode Island became distracted while that sturdy old revolter, the senior Senator from Minnesota, who has admitted that the blood of Scandinavian pirates is in his veins, and who is upon the ground floor, commenced to scuttle the citadel, if I may use that word in connection with a citadel, by driving with his sledgehammer blows, large holes into the bottom of the structure. When the muster roll was called, however, and the vote was taken, the damage was repaired, and the Senator from Rhode Island, upon the upper floor, resumed his ancient smile.