X

“We all must die.And leave ourselves, no, it matters not where, whenNor how, so we die well; and can that man that doesNeed lamentation for him.”

No picture of Kern would be complete which did not delineate him in his professional character. While actively engaged in political activities from the hour of his admission to the bar until his election to the senate in 1911, he never abandoned the practice of the law, or lost his love for the profession. No one knew him more intimately in this rôle than Leon O. Bailey, now engaged in the practice with former United States Senator Charles A. Towne in New York City, with whom he was associated during the first ten years of his residence in Indianapolis. It will be observed that in the portrait presented in the analysis of Mr. Bailey there is nothing that doesnot harmonize in a general way with the pictures we have had of the Man, the Companion, the Campaigner, and the Student:

“‘Was Kern a great lawyer?’ I would not justly record my own knowledge of the man’s mental qualities, or give response to my own judgment, did I not answer this query in the affirmative.“As a boy he possessed a thirst for knowledge and certainly up to the time of my intimate association with him terminated, was one of the most consistent, energetic and untiring students within my knowledge of men. He was logical, of retentive memory, a voracious reader of good literature, always delving and digging into his law books, with which he was ever surrounded, and thorough to the last word in his analysis of questions submitted for his investigation. It is very easy to see that with his mental habits above mentioned, when combined with the qualities of humanity and personal magnetism for which the world best knew him, Kern was, in the very nature of things, a great lawyer. It was my extreme good fortune, during my twenty-odd years in Indiana, to have enjoyed an intimate acquaintance with such great lawyers as Thomas A. Hendricks (in whose office I was a student for three years), Major Jonathan W. Gordon, Daniel W. Voorhees, David Turpie, Joseph E. McDonald, Conrad Baker, Byron K. Elliott, Addison C. Harris, William A. Ketcham, all judges of the Supreme Courts, and scores of brilliant members of the Indiana bar; and it is in comparison with these men that I rate Kern well up in the list.He was forceful before a jury, not only because of his eloquence and pleasing personality, but because of the candid and scrupulous manner with which he explained every principle and applied every fact of importance to be taken into consideration. His presentation, always manifestly trustworthy, carried conviction that always follows a logical and consistent development of the truth. Kern never could or did resort to tricks or pretense of any sort, but in every important battle met his enemy in the open and planted his batteries upon the rock foundation of truth and of the legal principles fairly applicable to the facts established. Like Oscar B. Hord, of the great firm of Baker, Hord and Hendricks, he was one of the most adroit cross-examiners at the Indiana bar. His skill in this particular constituted one of his most potent weapons in the court room. One of his rules was: ‘We have little to fear from our friends in a lawsuit. The danger usually lies behind the armor mask of falsehood or deception worn by the enemy. If this can be destroyed or penetrated we are safe.’ His method of handling an unfriendly or unwilling, timid or refractory witness was an interesting study. In this his quick and accurate judgment of men was of the greatest assistance. A perfect knowledge of his case, the exact line to be developed, and danger points to be avoided, were the first essentials, and absolute self poise the second. He never prejudiced a jury by an attitude of brutality toward an adverse witness. His affability at the beginning was usually rewarded with important admissions, then came the rapid-fire questions, a method commonly adopted by him, which in most instances brought confusion and often anger to the witness. Kern’s experience lead him to assert that ‘a witness that loses his temper loses his influence.’ He did not include in this rule those whose resentment was justly aroused by the ill treatment of counsel. Kern regarded this feature of his trial work as a distinct art and almost felt contempt for a lawyer who failed to appreciate its great value or possess the necessary skill for obtaining the best results. So much of interest did he feel in, and real importance attach to, this question that he often spoke of his intention, at some time, of giving his observations to the profession in a suitable book to be entitled ‘The Ideal Cross-Examiner.’ Master as he was of the subject, it is unfortunate he never found time to put this purpose, which would have been a distinct pleasure to him, into execution.“I recall a very amusing instance of Kern’s cleverness in the cross-examination of witnesses, which I may be excused for relating. It well demonstrates his ability for quickly and accurately taking the measurement of a witness. We were appearing for the defendant in a damage suit for personal injuries. While having reason to know that the claim of the plaintiff was based on fraud, the truth being difficult of establishment, we realized our client’s danger. The extent and nature of the plaintiff’s injury had been elaborately and with much exaggeration, presented by a bombastic and pretentious doctor, whose use of big words and highly technical scientific terms, with little knowledge on his part as to their meaning,were poured out in a flood before the jury. The appearance of the witness, nevertheless, was impressive, and his statements, freed from the slightest appearance of doubt, were calculated to convince a jury not only of the speaker’s wisdom, but the complete reliability of the conclusions he had reached. We both knew the witness personally and were well aware of his real status among the members of his profession. We not only knew that he was a ‘quack,’ and to a large extent illiterate despite his bold assurance, but were convinced that he was deliberately attempting to establish the plaintiff’s claim by falsehood. How to best show the character of this man to the jury was Kern’s purpose, quickly formed. He must wait until the ‘Doctor’ should be turned over for cross-examination. Mr. Kern began with a few flattering observations calculated to throw the witness off his guard and then, as if to further exploit the scholarly attainments of the witness (knowing full well he possessed none), the examiner quickly asked:“Doctor, in describing the sphincter muscles, please explain to the court and jury the difference, if any, between the functions and location in the human body of the “oribucularis oris” and the “orbicularis ani.”“The doctor, bewildered and as far at sea as a mortal can ever be, overlooking the possibility of any trap, but thinking only of keeping up his front to the jury, replied in his most affable and composed manner:“‘Practically none, Mr. Kern, practically none. The terms are used quite interchangeably.’“That question and answer removed the mask and was the end of the plaintiff’s case. The doctor’s usefulness had been destroyed. As the real meaning of the answer reached the presiding judge and filtered through the minds of the jury, the dignity of the court for the time was wholly lost. In thus exposing the ignorance and presumption of his opponent’s chief witness, Kern had employed a means not only expressive of his contempt for so great an impostor, but one also gratifying to his own sense of humor.“He was unselfish and never employed money as a standard in measuring the ability, honor or integrity of men. He earned good fees, but was never able to save, and like many public men of his type and greatness, was seldom free from the worry and anxiety of debt. Had his splendid talents and untiring energies been dominated by greed or open to employment by class interests for corrupt purposes, Kern might have amassed a fortune, instead of ending his life a poor man, but such opportunities never attracted him and his contempt for those who would lend their influence to base purposes because of the profit involved was well known to his friends. Much of his time was devoted without pay to the advancement of party, and this, together with his professional work, made for him a full and busy life. It was a clean, open and honorable one. He threw his entire soul into every engagement and much of his best energies were devoted to the interest of those who had grievances to remedy, but little or no money for compensation. If worthy, and possessing a just cause, this made little difference to Kern, and I have heardhim say: ‘I am too busy with the things I believe in and am doing for the betterment of mankind to follow the sordid schemes of the mere money-grabbers, and I am happier that it is so.’ How true this philosophy of Kern, a man developed from the people, and yet how difficult for most men to understand.”

“‘Was Kern a great lawyer?’ I would not justly record my own knowledge of the man’s mental qualities, or give response to my own judgment, did I not answer this query in the affirmative.

“As a boy he possessed a thirst for knowledge and certainly up to the time of my intimate association with him terminated, was one of the most consistent, energetic and untiring students within my knowledge of men. He was logical, of retentive memory, a voracious reader of good literature, always delving and digging into his law books, with which he was ever surrounded, and thorough to the last word in his analysis of questions submitted for his investigation. It is very easy to see that with his mental habits above mentioned, when combined with the qualities of humanity and personal magnetism for which the world best knew him, Kern was, in the very nature of things, a great lawyer. It was my extreme good fortune, during my twenty-odd years in Indiana, to have enjoyed an intimate acquaintance with such great lawyers as Thomas A. Hendricks (in whose office I was a student for three years), Major Jonathan W. Gordon, Daniel W. Voorhees, David Turpie, Joseph E. McDonald, Conrad Baker, Byron K. Elliott, Addison C. Harris, William A. Ketcham, all judges of the Supreme Courts, and scores of brilliant members of the Indiana bar; and it is in comparison with these men that I rate Kern well up in the list.He was forceful before a jury, not only because of his eloquence and pleasing personality, but because of the candid and scrupulous manner with which he explained every principle and applied every fact of importance to be taken into consideration. His presentation, always manifestly trustworthy, carried conviction that always follows a logical and consistent development of the truth. Kern never could or did resort to tricks or pretense of any sort, but in every important battle met his enemy in the open and planted his batteries upon the rock foundation of truth and of the legal principles fairly applicable to the facts established. Like Oscar B. Hord, of the great firm of Baker, Hord and Hendricks, he was one of the most adroit cross-examiners at the Indiana bar. His skill in this particular constituted one of his most potent weapons in the court room. One of his rules was: ‘We have little to fear from our friends in a lawsuit. The danger usually lies behind the armor mask of falsehood or deception worn by the enemy. If this can be destroyed or penetrated we are safe.’ His method of handling an unfriendly or unwilling, timid or refractory witness was an interesting study. In this his quick and accurate judgment of men was of the greatest assistance. A perfect knowledge of his case, the exact line to be developed, and danger points to be avoided, were the first essentials, and absolute self poise the second. He never prejudiced a jury by an attitude of brutality toward an adverse witness. His affability at the beginning was usually rewarded with important admissions, then came the rapid-fire questions, a method commonly adopted by him, which in most instances brought confusion and often anger to the witness. Kern’s experience lead him to assert that ‘a witness that loses his temper loses his influence.’ He did not include in this rule those whose resentment was justly aroused by the ill treatment of counsel. Kern regarded this feature of his trial work as a distinct art and almost felt contempt for a lawyer who failed to appreciate its great value or possess the necessary skill for obtaining the best results. So much of interest did he feel in, and real importance attach to, this question that he often spoke of his intention, at some time, of giving his observations to the profession in a suitable book to be entitled ‘The Ideal Cross-Examiner.’ Master as he was of the subject, it is unfortunate he never found time to put this purpose, which would have been a distinct pleasure to him, into execution.

“I recall a very amusing instance of Kern’s cleverness in the cross-examination of witnesses, which I may be excused for relating. It well demonstrates his ability for quickly and accurately taking the measurement of a witness. We were appearing for the defendant in a damage suit for personal injuries. While having reason to know that the claim of the plaintiff was based on fraud, the truth being difficult of establishment, we realized our client’s danger. The extent and nature of the plaintiff’s injury had been elaborately and with much exaggeration, presented by a bombastic and pretentious doctor, whose use of big words and highly technical scientific terms, with little knowledge on his part as to their meaning,were poured out in a flood before the jury. The appearance of the witness, nevertheless, was impressive, and his statements, freed from the slightest appearance of doubt, were calculated to convince a jury not only of the speaker’s wisdom, but the complete reliability of the conclusions he had reached. We both knew the witness personally and were well aware of his real status among the members of his profession. We not only knew that he was a ‘quack,’ and to a large extent illiterate despite his bold assurance, but were convinced that he was deliberately attempting to establish the plaintiff’s claim by falsehood. How to best show the character of this man to the jury was Kern’s purpose, quickly formed. He must wait until the ‘Doctor’ should be turned over for cross-examination. Mr. Kern began with a few flattering observations calculated to throw the witness off his guard and then, as if to further exploit the scholarly attainments of the witness (knowing full well he possessed none), the examiner quickly asked:

“Doctor, in describing the sphincter muscles, please explain to the court and jury the difference, if any, between the functions and location in the human body of the “oribucularis oris” and the “orbicularis ani.”

“The doctor, bewildered and as far at sea as a mortal can ever be, overlooking the possibility of any trap, but thinking only of keeping up his front to the jury, replied in his most affable and composed manner:

“‘Practically none, Mr. Kern, practically none. The terms are used quite interchangeably.’

“That question and answer removed the mask and was the end of the plaintiff’s case. The doctor’s usefulness had been destroyed. As the real meaning of the answer reached the presiding judge and filtered through the minds of the jury, the dignity of the court for the time was wholly lost. In thus exposing the ignorance and presumption of his opponent’s chief witness, Kern had employed a means not only expressive of his contempt for so great an impostor, but one also gratifying to his own sense of humor.

“He was unselfish and never employed money as a standard in measuring the ability, honor or integrity of men. He earned good fees, but was never able to save, and like many public men of his type and greatness, was seldom free from the worry and anxiety of debt. Had his splendid talents and untiring energies been dominated by greed or open to employment by class interests for corrupt purposes, Kern might have amassed a fortune, instead of ending his life a poor man, but such opportunities never attracted him and his contempt for those who would lend their influence to base purposes because of the profit involved was well known to his friends. Much of his time was devoted without pay to the advancement of party, and this, together with his professional work, made for him a full and busy life. It was a clean, open and honorable one. He threw his entire soul into every engagement and much of his best energies were devoted to the interest of those who had grievances to remedy, but little or no money for compensation. If worthy, and possessing a just cause, this made little difference to Kern, and I have heardhim say: ‘I am too busy with the things I believe in and am doing for the betterment of mankind to follow the sordid schemes of the mere money-grabbers, and I am happier that it is so.’ How true this philosophy of Kern, a man developed from the people, and yet how difficult for most men to understand.”

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 toMrs. 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 ofThe Ladies’ Home JournalandThe 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 thingto 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 thevisitor. 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 themhere. 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.”

“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 thingto 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 thevisitor. 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 themhere. 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 thevalley 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

KerncliffeKerncliffeWith 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 theBrooks School Newscontaining 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.”

“Asheville, N. C., March 23, 1917.

“My Dear Boy:

“When I sent Mr. Brooks’ letter I had not yet received theBrooks School Newscontaining 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. Thestory 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 inWashington 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 methat 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.”

“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 inWashington 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 methat 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.”

“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.”

“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 foundhis 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 theWorld Newsof 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.”

“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; Restingafter 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 ofhis 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 Ipen these lines. They are written in sincere and simple tribute to one of whom truly it can be said—

“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 ofhis 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 Ipen 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}

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}

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