Washington Paper - Biographical Notice of Charles A. Ashburner

The old do not love to see the young pass away from the light of the sun before them. Fathers would fain keep their sons by their side to the. end of life ; but the old Greeks, who loved the old gods, were wont to moderate their grief with the sweet superstition that only those whom their gods especially loved died early. The Christian church found consolation in that superstition applied in a new form to its new sorrows, and paid its most enthusiastic devotion to the memories of its young and beautiful martyrs. The natural science of our century is robbing us fast of this and all other superstitions, sweet as well as bitter, and leaving us for consolation to the teaching—colder, yet kinder—of personal fortitude and that optimism Which intelligently translates the Cosmos of Humboldt back into its old name of the Harmonia of Pythagoras. The Homeric Kataclothes, the three fates, are dead and gone for us, with that old world which comprehended none of the laws of cause and effect, and sorrowed for those who were cut off from the land of the living without hope of more than a shadowy existence beyond the river of death. All the more the ancients cherished the memory of their dead and lavished their choicest art upon their monuments. We moderns have lost the monumental arts, but we better keep the monuments which our dead leave behind them. No one of us who has done good work can fail to be remembered; and in an Institute like this, which keeps the press at work, an immortality in the memory of men is more possible, more certain, for every one of its members than the greatest heroes of antiquity could anticipate for themselves. In old apocalyptic times the works of men followed them through death to the throne of God to be their advocates in judgment, but in these modern times our works remain this side the grave, to follow the name of the departed one as it takes its course along the history of his peculiar art or science advancing slowly to perfection. We write the epitaph, not upon the mouldering stone of a tomb, but on the pages