THE BATTAEION.
23
The biting- Carlyle says, speaking- of American heroes:
“You have Georg-e, the surveyor.”
Yes, I answer, we have Georg-e, the surveyor, and
Uncle Robert Eee, and we of Texas have Sul. Ross, the
ranger; yet the three were three princes.
*****
Ideals are the true and regnant sovereigns.
In the old, old days, in the dear old south, there were
other great and good, loyal and trustworthy, yet in a well
deserved pre-eminence towers above all his illustrious com
peers the majestic form of a man who because of the
singular fidelity and perfection with which he fulfilled
the obligations which the idea represents, will ever be
recognized as the reverend exponent of the formative ideal
of the south.
The beauty of this ideal abides the crucial test of
time. But more, again it takes on flesh. We find it in
carnate.
What words can fitly paint the mighty, the peerless
paladius of the south?
But for purity of contour, perfection of form, grace of
power, elegance of mode, adorable, heart-winning southern
dignity, the world inevitably singles out Robert E. Bee.
I shall not attempt to paint the light, the radiance
streaming forth ever from our ideal, our hero, from Rob
ert, our king! We still have with us those who knew him.
Let them speak.
But one I knew. To him I can bear witness^ to
Lawrence Sullivan Ross. Too modest he was in his g-en-
tle dignity, his innate elegance, his polished courtesy; yet