The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1876-10-18
MISCELLANY.
AN ELOQUENT oUTBunsT.

When Col Ingersoll faced his old comrades,
the Boys in Blue, at the indianapolis conven-
ton, on tile 21st of September last, the inspi-
ration of the occasion caused him to give inn
promptu utterancc to the following eloquent,
touching and pathetic passage. 1t proves him
to be natural born orator of the highest Or
der. He was recalling the scenes of the war,
and said
!" The past rises before me like dream
Again we are in the great struggle for Nation
al life. We hear the sounds of preparation
the music of the boisterous drums--the silver
voices Of heroic bugles. We see thousands Of
assemblages, and hear thesappeals of Orators
we see the pale checks Of women, and the
flushed faces of men and in those assembling
es we see all the dead whose dust we have
covered with flowers. We lose sight of them
no more. We arc with them when they enlist
in the great army of freedom. We see them
part from those they love. Some are walking
for the last time in quiet, woody places with
the maidens they adore. We hear the whis-
perings and the sweet vows of eternal love rs
they lngerlngly part forever. Others are
bending over cradles, kissing babies that are
asleep. Some are receiving the blessings of
old men. Some are parting with those who
hold them and press them to their hearts again
and again, and say nothing ; and some are
talking with wives, and endeavoring with
brave words spoken in the old tones to drive
from their hearts the awful fear. We see
the wife standing in the door, with the babe
in her arms--standing in the sunlight sob
bing,-at the turn of a road a hand waves
she answers by holding high in her loving
arms the child. lie is gone, and forever.
We see them all as they march proudly a.
way under the Haunting flags, keeping time
to the wild, grand music of war, marching
down the streets of the great cities, through
the towns and across the prairies, down to
the fields of glory, to do and to die for the
eternal right.
We go with them one and all We are by
their sides on all the CORY iields,-in all the
hospitals of pain, on all the weary marches. -
We stand guard with them in the wild storm
and under the quiet stars. We are with them
in ravines running with blood,-in the burrows
of old fields. We are with them between
contending hosts, unable to move, wild with
thirst the life ebbing slowly away among the
withered leaves. We see them pierced by
balls and torn with shells in the trenches by
forts, and in the whirlwind of the charge,
where men became iron, with nerves of steel.
We are with them in the prisons of hatred
and famine, but human speech can never tell
what they endured.
We are at home when the news comes that
they are dead We see the maiden in the
shadow of her first sorrow. We see the sill
yered head of the old man bowed with the
last grief
The post rises before us and we see four
millions of human beings governed by the
lash we see them bound hand and foot we
hear the strokes of cruel whips we see the
hounds tracking women through tangled
swamps. We see babies sold from the breasts
of mothers Cruelty unspeakable Outrage
infinite
Four million bodies in chains-fonr million
souls in letters. All the sacred relations OF
wife, mother, father and child are trampled
beneath the brutal feet of might. And all
this was done under our own beautiful BAN
per of the Free
The past rises before us. We hear the roar
and shrek of the bursting shell. The brok-
Gu letters fall. These heroes died. We look.
Instead of slaves we see men, and women and
children. The wand of progress touches the
auction-block, the slave-pen, the whipping
post, and we SEQ homes and fre-sides, and
schoolhouscs and books, and where all was
want, and crime and cruelty and letters, VIC
see the faces of the free.
These heroes are dead. They died for lib
erty they died for us. They are at rest
They sleep in the land they made free, under
the flag they rendered stainless, under the sol
emn pines the sad hemlocks, the fearful will
lows and the embracing vines. They sleep
beneath the shadows Of clouds, careless alike
of the sunshine or of storm, each in the win
dowless palace of rest. Earth may run red
with other wars--they are at peace. In the
midst of battle, in the roar of conflict they
found the serenity Of death. "A voice
"Glory.'] have one sentiment for the sol
diers living and dcad--cheers for the living
and tears for the dead"
An Englishman who insulated lis bed-stead
by placing underneath each post a broken of