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ANNIVERSARY ADDRESS.
BY N. R. BROYLES, PHI KAPPA SOCIETY,
UNIVERSIIY OF GEORGIA, FEBRUARY
22, 1888.
HEROES AND EERO WORSHIP.
Brother Phi-Kappas, Fei.low
Demosthenianp, Ladies and Gen
tlemen:—The truth of the familiar
old saying, “Time flies,” was never
upon me more fully impressed than
at this moment when I stand before
you the orator of this occasion. It.
seems to me only a few short weeks
since, when in company with many
of you, I sat and listened to the
earnest, conscientious words which
fell from the lips of my gifted prede
cessor. And yet,
‘Noiselessly as the day-light comes when
the night is done,
And the crimson streak on Ocean’s cheek
grows into the great sun ;
Noiselessly as the spring-time her crown
of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills open their
thousand leaves;
So, without sound of music or Vince of
those that wept”
Into vast eternity another year has swept.
The inexorable, never ceasing
wheels of time have rolled on crush
ing out beneath their iron weight th
life of old 1887, and with their swi
revolutions bringing us round to the
68th anniversary of the hisorical o,
tyjJ- 1
of my few desultory remarks
this occasion is Heroes and Hero
Worship—a subject which ha9 been
rendered immortal by the rugged and
commanding genius of Carlyde.
Hero worship is said by that won
derful intellect to be simply trans-
eendant admiration for a great man
—a definition at once succinct and
complete. This hero worship or ad
miration for noble and extraordi
nary qualities is an implanted prin
ciple in man’s very nature, and can
almost be called the fountain head
of all his virturc. For no matter
how wicked and unprincipled a man
may be; no matter if nothing pure
or noble remains in his character,
he, nevertheless, is compelled by this
very God-given principle to honor
and respect virtue and worth when
ever and wherever he recognizes them
in the character of others.
Mythology tells us of a beautiful
legend about “Hope, the charmer,”
lingering’ still among men, when
everything else that was good and
beautiful had taken flight to more
congenial climes; but when the last
spark of even hope itself is extin
guished, never to be re-kindled, this
“divine efflatus” still survives, and
never even for an instant deserts
man while his heart throbs or his
breast heaves.
Man, without his knowledge or
consent, is placed upon the earth by
hisCreator. He knows not whence
he came, where he is, or whither he
is going. “An atom on a grain of
sand,” as a distinguished scientist
expressed it,he is painfully conscious
of his insignificance and helplessness
aud accordingly is willing to yield
homage to any being greater or more
powerful than himse f.
llis first impulse is to worship the
unknown but omnipotent God, who
h'ks created this great and glorious
universe; who has made the land aud
and sea; the mountains and the
valleys; the flowing rivers aud the
BeRTant fields; the glowing sunshine
and the dewy flowers; and who has
placed him here to enjoy them all.
But however worshipful and de
vout he may be towards the Maker
of all these, it is still necessarily an
unrealistic, intangible kind of ado
ration. His earnest, matter of-fact
disposition requires some real and
known object to worship, and what
better or grander one is there for
him to choose than the Creator’s
last and greatest work—man, him
self?
This hero-worship, as it is aptly
called, is as old as man himself.—
Wherever he has existed, there have
always been men greater and more
[powerful than their companions,
[who have exacted the homage of
[leadership and superiority due them.
[Whether they were born great,
ffrpoi npss..ov hn<i greatncss
hrust upoNTtnem, matters not; they
wej-e great, and were so recognized
bv their cotemporaries.
All nations, and all people, have
had their heroes. The old Norse
Sea Kings, rude and ignorant as
they were, nevertheless, had their
Odin and their Thor; and so great
was their reverence for the former,
that although he was only a rude and
ignorant Scandinavian, yet his mem
ory is still preserved in traditions
and legends, and even in our 19th
century of progress and civilization,
his name still remains to us in our
Wednesday or Odin’s day.
Grecian Mythology gives us as
heroes, an Achilles, a Hector, and an
Ulysses, who were all possessed of
superhuman power. Rome hud her
Romulus, her Curtius, and her Cae
sar, who towered above their com
panions like giants, as they were.
England has bequeathed to us her
Black Prince, her Richard Coeur
DeLion, and her Cromwell,- all he
rocsi of the first water.
Spain still delights in the legends
of her Cid, and Scotland in those of
her Bruce and Wallace. France
boasts of her Joan of Arc, ar.d her
Napoleon Bonaparte; and America
proudly points to the spotless names
of her Washington aud her Lee.
These are all worthy of hero worship,
and their memories should be en
shrined in our hearts as the greatest
heroes of history.
Has the present time any heroes,
or have they all passed away? Some
claim that the latter supposition is
true—that there are no great men
in our day and lime, but that cir
cumstances and other causes have
placed all of us on a common level,
and that the age for heroes has
passed away forever. It would be a
sad, sad day for the world if this
were so; but, thank God, it is not.
It is the littleness, the jealousy, the
acrimonious part of man, that re
fuses to see greatness in his lellow-
man when it is really there. Yes,
thank God, I say again, that, in this
world of sorrow and care, we still
have heroes and heroines, too.
We have only to look about us,
among our friends and acquaint
ances, to see them in all of thei
pristine brightness and glory—not,
perhaps, great or heroic in the com
mon acceptation of these words, but,
nevertheless, true heroes and hero
ines in the sight of heaven and eter
nity. They may not have that ex
traordinary ability or transcendent
genius like some that are renowned
on the pages of the world’s history.
They may not acquire that gliltei-
ing and evanescent reputation which
depends upon the admiration and
app'ause of a fickle people; but yet,
notwithstanding, they maybe truer
and grander heroes than
many
whose names aie emblaztnifcd high
me annais relief'aMf Yvno»e
brilliant and meteoric careers have
dazzled the eyes of the world.
Christ, going about in the back
ways and alleys, bare footed and
humbly clad, weary, hungry, and
footsore, caring for the poor and
wretched, sympathizing with the
sick and afflicted, giving out of his
own meagre possessions to the nee
dy aud impoverished, aud divinely
forgiving the wicked and repentant,
was the grandest hero upon which
the sun ever shone. What brilliant
or world-renowned monarch or con
queror cau compare in true heroism
to this man of Nazareth ? And yet
lie went not about with pomp and
attendants. He was not clothed
in purple and silks. He sat upon no
ivory or golden throne, nor ruled
with regal sway over any wide or
extended empire ; but calmly aud
unobtrusively He pursued His quiet
and humble way. And by the mer
cy of God, we have yet among us
many of these humble, but true he
roes aud heroines, who denying
themselves luxuries and even neces
sities, live in the most sparing aud
i-igid manner for the sake of others,
aud who in support of some infirm
relatives or friends, work their very
fingers to the bone ; for them freely
expending all their resources, their
genius and even their lives. In eve
ry land aud in every clime, these can
be seen, and these are the truest he
roes in this life ; for it takes more
heroism to endure privation and toil;
to suffer calamities and afflictions ;
to bear poverty and ivant ; and to
sacrifice yourselt for the good of
others, than to dazzle and electrify
the whole world with brilliant and
loud-sounding achievements. This
kind of heroism it was that actuated
John Howard when he gave up his
brilliant worldly prospects and his
wealthy and luxurious home, to go
among misery and want, and to des
vote his entire life to the betterment
of the human race. Delicately bred,
and naturally of the most refined
rnd elegant habits, he yet spent all
of his time in foul prisons and in
dark, filthy dungeons, seeking with
all the means he possessed to alles
viate the miserable condition of the
unfortunate wretches confined be
hind their grated windows. With
his warm and sympathetic heart,
bleeding for them in their misery
aud downfall, he lived and died, en
tirely occupied in the noble work
of softening and ameliorating the
rigors of their severe and. intolerable
prison life.
As loDg as the admiration for a
great and charitable life shall con
tinue; as long as the memory of a
noble benefactor of the human race
shall live; as long as hero worship
itself exists; so long will the gentle
and unselfish John Howard be re
garded as one of our greatest and
tfflest heroes. ”
It was similar heroism which in
duced Florence Nigutingale to ex
change the sweet breath of home for
the\estilential air of the hospital,
and tk give up the admiration and
homage of the drawing room for the
groans and heart rending cries of
the patie^fs under the surgeon’s^
knife. Though often her soul Slew
sick and faint at the awful ajatb mo
notonous scenes of suffering around
her; and though^efi account of the
foul aud close air of the sick room,
her form grew thin and wasted, and
the rises faded forever from her
cheells; yet, she never faltered nor
fainted at her post of duty, but
softly >and deftly moved about, alle
viating with her gentle touch and
soothing voice the fever stricken and
suffering as only a loving, warm
hearted woman can. What heroism
was nobler or grander than hers?
and what hero or heroine is more
worthy of our worship?
It was such heroism that sustain
ed and auimaled the feeble frame of
Jefferson Davis while loaded down
with chains and irons in the dun
geons of Fortress Monroe; and
which caused him, with calm and
noble dignity to so deport himself in
the dark days of his defeat and
misfortunes as to elicit the everlast
ing praises of the united world.
It was heroism like this which in-
