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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-