The Press., 1891-06-11

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 uphold the flag. Such an uprising and disregard of mammon and positions was never equalled except in the crusades of the middle ages.
 The departure for the seat of war is among the imperishables of soldiers life. The last visit home had been made. Wife, mother, sister, and sweetheart, es- corted to the depot or the wharf, and many handkerchief was starched along the way, and many fervent prayer went up to God, while the booming of cannon, and the ringing of bells, and cheer on cheer but faintly voiced the deep interest of friends whose hearts beat the real march of the departing regiment. As if to mock the grim features of war, bo- quet crowned the musket, and inspiring music filled the air. Scarcely has the last cheer died away, and the last look been taken, when convulsive sobs are heard, for many companion and parent realize that they may never meet again on earth.
 In memory and imagination follow the "boys in blue" into camp and battle. Hard is the soldiers bed d,-only a pallet of straw. At times the head shall find fitful slumber upon the cold, damp earth. Pitiless snow shall not only be the wind ing sheet of the dead, but of the living. Monotonous food fills the burdened hay ersack, which only the keen appetite of 8 soldier renders tolerable. Betimes even this shall be lacking, and hunger shall join hands with cold to test the fidelity of the nation's defenders. Protracted and nasty marches add their measure of dis comfort. From early dawn to set of sun the "boys" were marching. Tramp, tramp, they filed right and filed left, thro' swamp, and gorge, and woods, OCT hill and mountain. The feet were blistered and swollen; the joints were stiff and lame; many a soldier staggered, then tainted on the march.
 1 In the midst of such discomforts, home sickness invades the soldiers heart. A letter from home, ''sweet home," either it's joys or it's sorrows fills the heart with | the "bonnie friends" of the flreside, those idols of the heart. Duty is done mechan- ically, but the interest lies far away with eyes that wait to welcome us. Food is unrelished; sleep comes late; time drags heavily, and furlough is craved with the most intense longing. Home and friends never seemed so dear. Their comforts and bliss never seemed to great.
 But these are only minor parts of sol dier's sacrifices for his country. Recall his greater sacrifices. From such weari- ness, discomfort and malaria, disease in- trenches itself among the enemies. Loss of appetite, nausea, fever, rheumatism, indigestion, with all it's chronic ailments, serve but to recall the battle of the hos pital. How many survivor to-day car ries chronic ailments that the grave alone can cure. Thousands returned from the war to drag out wretched existence. The seeds of death were sown amid the heat of battle and miasm, and the cypress was pinned upon @ patriots uniform long ere he left the tented field.
 Danger was constant ingredient of a lsoldier's cup. Oft times the patriot sol dier rises above the sense of fear and lperil. His eyes are only open to his duty. But there is a hush before the battle, when the bravest ken the peril, and there is an hour after the battle, when the vis- ion of the mangled, dying and the dead reveal the imminent peril of the deadly breach, and the ghastliness of war. These are impressive factors in patriots experience. Does the historic picture of lpatriotic sacrifices grow dark :? The col ors must be blacker yet. Distill in the alembic of your thoughts, from the tears and blood, the mental and physical agony of soldier patriots. View them starving at atAndersonville, writhing on battle-fields, ldismembered by merciful surgeons, vast ing and gasping in hospitals. The agony of even patriots war can never be DOT trayed. Let us lower the curtain upon it's indescribable anguish. "Greater love hath no man than this, that man should lay down his life." This crowning sacri- flee our national martyrs gave. Life is dear to all. It was dear to them as it is dear to us. They who survive gave up their life as truly as those who fell. Side by side, mid shot and shell and sabre thrust, the living and the dead offered up their lives in defence of the union. The living merit equal honor with the dead.
 Nor is the usual burial of soldier on the field scene to be forgotten. No cof- fin enwraps the form so dear to those at home. The grave was but part of the trench loving comrades had dug. No costly shroud invests him. The torch of religion that lights up deaths dark night is out of reach. Comrades carry the silent form, wearing it's blood-stained martial dress, and lay it gently down to it's long repose, On the morrow pine board marks the spot. The country re- deemed from treason shall be their monu- Iment, and their burial service shall be the memorial services of coming generations. Their casket is the nations heart. Ye vernal winds, breathe softly o'eI their graves. Ye genius of liberty, patriot mother ,lhymn sweet lullabys to your hon. ored sons, whose pale hands are still up. holding the nations flag, and keeping perpetual vigils o'er nations veal
 Secondly, let us turn to our nations duties. Our first duty is memorialization. The national martyrs have dearly pur. chased remembrance. They deserve to be remembered. Keep their haversack sword and musket. Commit their deeds coming generations. Let their likeness and biography ornament museums and memorial halls. Moisten with grate'u tears the laurel that encircles their pale brows. Let the historian and the poet timmOrta liza thair viy-t,,oo opd x,alo,r