The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1875-06-05

own cemeteries or only their names appca
on wonder marble shaft, while they sleep IL
distant and perhaps unknown graves, you
hearts are their real resting place; and wha
YOU do to-day Is more than the rendering o
honor. II Is the tribute of love. You do no
!, hink of them so much as brave soldiers-al
l though you know that they were brave-bu
= YOU think of son, husband, father, brother
! lover, and suddenly your hearts overflow
with sorrow whose springs will never b.
dry. You loved them-you love them. We
the multitude, honor them as soldiers; hn
to you they were dearest friends, and your
hearts ache with the pain of bereavement.
Well, the tribute OF love is better than thai
of honor! The tears OF Mary Magdalene
weeping at the door of the sepulchrc, were
fragrant and precious far beyond the spices
which she bore. The sobs which shook her
frame as she leaned against the rocky iron'
of the tomb, close by the open door, were a
worthier tribute to the Savior who she thought
was dead than were the acclamations OF the
multitude, few days before, shouting "Ho'
sannah 10 the son of David" If the flowers
which you scatter here have the added ira
GRANGE of personal affection, then the wild
wood blossom is richer offering than CHS
eled marble or towering spires. And not
only richer, but more appropriate. For what
did these men care the most as they endured
the months and years OF service' surely not
the WAGES they received Not promotion to
lhigheitank and wider command. Not the
fame won by deeds Of desperate daring or
unexpected success. These men, the most OF
them certainly, really cared more for the love
of the friends they had left than for anything
else do no: mean that they had no ambi'
ton for fame, no desire for the rewards which
belong to those who show themselves equal
to great emergencies or to those who do
their duty patiently and well. No true man
is destitute of these ambitions and they were
true men, But what touched their hearts the
quickest and the deepest, were love tokens
from the ones they loved. How eagerly they
watched for your letters! How dearly they
priced your little gifts! A common photo.
graph, lock of hair, any small token of af.
fection, they carried next their hearts-and
in not a few instances the treasure was at
last we: with their life's blood, yelling from
the death wound. Even in the successful
campaign, when they experienced the fierce
deli ghts of victorious conflict, and came out
innsbruck by the Kissing serpents of battle,
they hungered for affection. How intense
must that hunger have become when disease
began to make FAINT their pulses, or death
wounds drained the deep springs of life!
Then indeed they longed to behold your faces,
to hear your voices. AS they lay upon their
cots in the hospital, or wandered feebly with
in the contracted death line of the prison.
pen, they remembered every word and sign
of your affection With trembling hands
they took out the Testament, the picture, the
letters, the faded flower, the little gift of love
with dim eyes they gazed at them, and then
perhaps, with weak, pathetic voices they
would speak of you to their comrades, and
for awhile their hearts would be comforted
and the pain of wounds or imprisonment as
suaged.
SO there is an appropriateness in these gifts
of flowers which you make to-day. While
our dead soldiers were living and following
the flag they would have priced bunch of
wild blossoms which the hand of some loved
one had gathered and bestowed as gift Of
affection far more than any costlier gift
which was not freighted with love. If you
had sent flowers to them while they lived
they would have understood the meaning of
the gift TO have been, ave love your And
every branch and blossom which your fingers
have twined today, every curve of the
wreaths and garlands which decorate this
monument; every flower and bud that will
fall from your hands upon the graves you are
about to visit, repeats the words 1--WE love
you" 1t is indeed love which looks for
ward to no earthly future with expectant eyes.
1t is love which has Memory instead Of
Hope for its handmade; but it is true love
still, that death cannot quench nor the flood
of intervening years destroy.
With pride as well as with love do we re-
member our slain to day. We have right
to be proud OF them. Never did the sun
shine upon more gallant gentlemen. Never
did soldiers march endowed with knight
lier spirit Never did mortal men stand
steadier in the flaming lines of battle-rush
forward in the assault with a more impetu-
Gus courage, or endure reverses with loitier
herosm. There is no grand story Of fearless
bravery or of patient endurance on the pages
of history--no tale of daring told by father
to son around the camp,tires of the warlike
but unhstorical tribes, that we cannot match
with the deeds Of our heroes. Few indeed
are the armies of history which are worthy
| to be named with ours. Where shall we find
those worthy of their fellowship? Not
among the trained machines and fighting an.
finals, which compose the standing armies
of kings, and with which they have won their
barren victories. Not among those who love
! fighting for It's own sake who become'intox-
icated with il as with wine, and, drunk with
tgerish delight OF battle have shrunk from
no danger and felt no fear None of these
! snail DC na!neu WIN our heroes. n gOOuller
| fellowship is theirs To find their peers we
must fellow the march Of Freedom through
the world, pause where we see the flash of
swords, and look where the few have stood
against the many and yielded UP their lives
with sacred Joy, because they knew that each
drop of their hearts blood would be the bap-
tisni and the chrism of a soldier, OF Liberty
in some later day. Those great ones, the
flashing of whose swords was the earliest
dawning of the morning of Freedom, now
grown SO broad and fair-those only are the
peers of Our "boys in blue" whom we honor
this day. And in saying this | am not in
duiging in empty rhetoric. These men, the
day before the iron Storm OF Moultrie beat
on the walls OF Sumter, had no thoughts OF
armies and of war. They dreamed OF moth
ing else than long, quiet lives and peaceful
death. On Independence Day perhaps theiI
blcol was quickened by martial music, but
! the momentary excitement which fife and
!, drum aroused ceased before sunset There
J was no trace of the military spirit in them