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THE LATE PROFESSOR H. 0. JONES.I

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THE LATE PROFESSOR H. 0. JONES. I UNVEILING CEREMONY AT PENGAM SCHOOL. I BRILLIANT TRIBUTE BY PROFESSOR TOM JONES, M.A. In connection with the unveiling of a tablet to the late Professor Humphrey Owen Jones, a former pupil at Lewis' County School, Pengam, on Wednesday in last week, a report of which has already appeared, Professor Tom Jones, M.A., secretary to the Welsh Insurance Commissioners, and an old Pengam boy" paid the following brilliant tribute to his departed colleague It is a privilege allowed to ordinary people like .ourselves to celebrate in our common-place way the greatness of men greater than ourselves. We may keep green the memory of the full lives they lived and the fine deeds they wrought in our midst, and pass the record of them on as an exam- ple to the generations which shall come after us. Within these walls the young mind of H. O.Jones opened on the kingdom of knowledge, great terri- tories of which he was presently to make his own. To-day we write his name in brass, which shall outlast us, and shall tell the boys of Pengam in the ages to come that a rich and rare spirit once dwelt here, and went forth from this school to Aberystwyth, to Cambridge, to the Fellowship of the Royal Society, to the friendship of the Alps, tt> the diviner comradeship of marriage, and to a sudden, tragic, yet glorious death. We are not met to judge, or justify, or explain happenings, upon the meaning of which the pale lamps of our intelligences can throw but alfeeble flickering light. Some regret, some hiraeth"- being human, we cannot resist for bright presences which have passed from our midst. But we are here, above all, to sing the praises of the dead to stablish them in our memories; to bless the fathers and mothers who begat them, and the Source of all Life from whom they came, and to Whom they have returned. It would be easy to linger over the outward and visible incidents of the life of H. O. Jones; his possible Scandinavian ancestry, with its love of travel and adventure his seven years of childhood in that seedplot.of able Welshmen around Gogman; the home life at Ebbw Vale, and his school life here; the scholarships and academic distinctions at college the researches in the laboratories his career as a teacher; the succession of admiring students; the fellowships of Clare and of the Royal Society; the appointment to a Royal Com. mission. Are not these all written for our amaze- ment in the chronicles of the Universities ? They are the milestones showing the intellectual dis- tance traversed in 34 years, according to the measures of this world. But what I want rather to insist on is the unity, the intensity, and the completion of the life we now contemplate and commemorate. It is agreed that ii. O. Jone? was one of the most active and productive investigators of our day." Some 60 papers from his pen are entered on the files of the learned societies. I am not competent to speak of the character or quality of these researches, but I do know that to the making of a skilled investigator, such as H. 0. Jones was, went .qualities of patience, precision, imagination, and judgment, and these very quali- ties which he displayed in the laboratory, when seeking to penetrate the mysteries of organic chemical compounds, he displayed on Snowdon and in Switzerland, when tracing untrodden paths up the sides of Lliwedd or the Matterhorn. The same powers of persistence, of endurance, of overcoming (difficulty, characterised his work in the one field as in the other. It is higly signifi- cant that his scientific friends on the one hand, and his climbing friends on the other, fasten on the same characteristics in the tributes they have paid to him. The writer, who tells of his scien- tific works, speaks of the Jmasterly lucidity of his expositions, the almost military character of his class discipline, his intense and continuous labour, and the delicate balance of his mind. The writer in the Alpine Journal" emphasises similar qualities lof his mountaineering work.- Commencing his climbing somewhat late, he set himself with the thoroughness of a highly trained mind and the enthusiasm of a Celtic nature, to master every detail and aspect of mountaineering and in the space of only a few seasons had won his way, by force of sheer intellect, helped by remarkable powers of endurance, technical skill, and an inexhaustible vitality, into the very front rank of mountaineers. As a moun. taineer, Jones's endurance, skill, and calculating courage were only equalled by his sound judgment of rock, ice or weather, by his cool decision in every variety of emergency, and by his self- control and unfailing sense of humour To us his life may seem divided. It was really one. The same life throbbed when unravelling the secret ways of chemical substances, and when scaling mountain crags and peaks of ice. And it was a tireless and a swift life crowded with activities, and charged with lofty purpose. He lived in deeds not years, in thoughts not breaths, In feelings, not in figures on a dial." He lived at a speed and with an intensity which makes it fallacious and idle to reckon its length I by the clocks and calendars of mortal men. What is 34 years to one man is 64 or 94 to another. If you can fill the unforgiving miuufce With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it." That is what H. 0 Jones did, and that is how hii few years gave to the world, a rich harvest of achievement. He lived at a pace and pressure of thought and action which is bewildering to us Hower, ;lazier mortals, who, compared with him, do but slouch through life. The passion for knowledge, and the excitement of beauty and danger, called him like martial music, and his pulse beat quickly, and his feet moved swiftly to the tune which all heroes hear, but to which we poor folk are deaf. Hail and farewell! I must arise, Leave here the fatted cattle, And paint on foreign lands and skies My Odyssey of battle. The untented Kosmos my abode, I pass, a wilful stranger; My mistress still the open road And the bright eyes of danger. I Come ill or well, the cross, the crown, The rainbow or the thund >r I fling my soul and body down For God to plough them under. Heard we the fire and drum, we, too, would step forth on the high roads of the universe our feet would be beautiful upon the mountains; our hearts would receive the incomparable pomp of eve, and the cold glories of the dawn. That is what these two lovers did, and it is only because we live in the country of the blind-in the caver. nous deeps of black coal pits—that their death seems to call for some special explanation or j usti- fication. Believe me, it does not. There is letis mystery in falling Ifrom mountain heights than in being killed by after damp. Life is one, and it is the use of it, not the end of it that matters, j And not only was there this unity and this intensity about his life, but there was about it A REMARKABLE COMPLETENESS. I do not mean that his work was done—for his powers were at their zenith, and might have con- tinued so for many years. But I do mean that he stood for a full, rich, and complete ideal of life, and not for a poor, or stunted, or fractional view of it. It is some index of the change coming over the thought of Wales that these two comrades should have issued forth from quiet Christian homes, should have met and married, and celebrated their honeymoon in the way they did. I welcome the change, for I believe the Christian ideal as it has come down to us through mediaeval channels, needs to be completed by the Greek ideal. In our inmost thoughts and deepest convictions, we are to-day not ascetics. Our national hero is a saint, but we do not imitate him. We do not really believe poverty and weakness to be good things, and wealth and health to be bad. The spiritual problem of our time is to re-state the Christian ideal so as to embrace the Greek ideal of harmony and beauty. To the Greeks the body was not the enemy,but the ally of the soul. They grasped the truth that the life of the spirit gro ws out of the life of the flesh, as the fl)wer grows out of the soil." They believed actively and frankly in health and strength, and skill and beauty. The Greeks" it has been said, "are the only people who have con- ceived athletics spiritually. So that, seen through the imagination of Pindar, the victor in the games shines down the avenue of history like a statue in verse, naked and suffused with light under a cloudless sky, quickened by songs and dances, and thrilled by the vision of Olympian Gods, divine to present him his ideal, yet human too, to spur him to its pursuit. Even the mere body, one might say, was spiritualised by the Greeks. But they never regarded the body as the end. It was the instrument of the soul; and it was in order that it might respond to her lightest motion that they would have it perfectly tuned On the foundation of health and beauty they built the temples of science and art." It was to some such ideal of physical health and trained reason and social duty that our friends had set their wills. It was a spiritual goal; they had coun ted the cost; they took all reasonable precautions. With fire in each breast and free- dom on each brow" they sought the biding places of man's power in the high solitudes which are the home of the strong. The chess-board is the world, the pieces are the phenomena of the universe, the rules of the game are what we call the laws of Nature. The player on the other side is hidden from us, We know that his play is always fair, just and patient. But also we know, to our cost, that he never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest allowance for ignorance." The guide made a mistake, and payment was demanded on the spot. But there arc worse things than .death—the lose of enterprise and courage, and the loss of imaginative daring. These are more precious than some of our domestic virtues, and they are much rarer. H. 0. Jones and Muriel Edwards felt the homing instinct as we all do, and came together. They heard also the call of the mountains; they responded, and they had their reward. They saw together the morning spread upon the mountains they heard the wind that blows over lonely places; they saw the tumultuous array of peaks flashing to Heaven in the sunlight, like spears, terrible as an army with banners. They watched the night approach from the far distances. The day before they had done some scrambling in mist on the Innominata, and in the afternoon, in bright sunshine, had lain out and enjoyed the views from the Chatelet. Mrs. Jones had sung to them all the evening. Mist, sunshine, song. It is good to think of them looking out on the great amphitheatre of the South face of the Monts Rouges among "the types and symbols of eternity." And now they sleep among the lonely bills." Atter singing 0 fryniau Caersalem," Mr R. W. Jones, B.A., J.P., expressed the tha-nks of those present to all who had taken part in that day's ceremony. The words they had listened to would, he said, dwell long in their minds, and the boys present would not forget the impressive speeches they bad heard. It was a subject upon which one could not speak. He was very glad that means had been found for raising that Memorial Tablet, which would keep in their minds, and those who came after them, the character of Humphrey Jones. It was a painful occasisn for Mr and Mrs. Jones, who were present, but with all the pain there must be a feeling of gratitude to God, for having enabled their son to do so much (applause).

Stomach Troubles, .

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