The Newtown bee., 1900-06-01

tiens and disappointments, temptations and triumphs, like every man since Adam. And for joy or grief, and mostly in secret, of course, after the manner of men, they cried sometimes; how else could they have been heroes? A man who is never good for cry, is not good for fight. His feelings cannot rise to the occasion and stay there. Mere in- tellect or mere courage, or both together. never made real man, much less hero. Heroism is ot the heart, and 50 wins all hearts. It is tender with the love, and dewy with the tears of all mankind. And so it was that our heroes loved their children and their country, and were ready to fight for both at the first flicker of & hostile flag.
 Their work was homely in the doing; none but themselves can ever know how homely. It was homesickness, weari- ness, and dirt, disease and death from years end to years end. But for their cause, and their heroism in 1t, theirs would have been debasing work. With that cause, and their devotion to it, their work was the chief glory of their coun- try and their century. Year by year on land and sea, by night and day, through heat and winter wind, scourged by life and racked by death, they fought their
 starry way to happy peace. And they
 builded better than they knew. Heroes
 always do that. They live by faith, not
 by knowledge, and no mans faith was | ever yet big enough to divine hero's
 estate. Sometimes they die in the mid stress of their endeavor, knowing noth- ing of it's results; sometimes they live to know little of the reward of their sac
 rifices; but however long they stay,
 they finally go hence, half knowing and
 half known, leaving an unclaimed heri-
 tage (of glory) to unborn heirs.
 ] The world does not pay it's debt, to Its
 benefsctors themselves; partly because it is not payable in material things !; partly because only the slow ages can at
 all compute it; and partly because it is
 not altogether payable by mortals.
 These continents are not all the world,
 nor their living inhabitants all it's people.
 Sadly doubting as men may, of the un- ldiscovered country, they nevertheless tcannot doubt of the millions who have ifore-lived them, nor think in their hearts that those millions are no more. From
 those millions came earth's heroes, and
 to them, at last return. What welcome
 theirs must be! Perhaps one who re.
 members the return of our regiments ir
 1865 may guess something about it; but it can be quite revealed only to those
 who go home on their shields. This is
 the way in which so many of our boys
 went home generation ago, and in that
 way also have gone home many of their
 survivors. What tesr-blurred list theil
 names would make to-day!
 How measureless the inheritance which our heroes leave to their children They may add to their patrimony houses and lands, and all the winged riches which fortune gives to labor; and al
 these things they may lose. They car
 keep while life remains one thing which moth and rust cannot corrupt, and which thieves cannot break through and steal the priceless treasure of heroic blood. A man with Gettysburg in his veins is rich
 CT than the Indies, though the Indies dra ined the wealth of all the zones Emerson was right when he said :. ''One ruddy drop of m anly blood
 \ The surgipg sea outweighs."
 \ Our old soldiers know that truth They have seen it in the service of heavy fight and in the valley of the shadow oi death. They have felt it in all the per. !; sonal reverses, and the civil turmoils, oi
 these last 30 years, and they feel it more and more, as in fading blue they face the fading West. Hats off to-day, for the wal of the Union marches past! Hats off to
 its old men, and it's old flag! Hats of to it's flag Git by eternal sunshine), to it's
 men, now forever young (who fell at
 the front, or died at their homes.) Hats
 of to Liberty, sweet mother of US all, who mourns among our dead her sons of
 many lands. None but the dead could
 name them all; but there are black men among them, who melted the chains of their people with the flame of their mus- kets. There are native Americans there, who were worthy of their country and her crown of lyric death. There are Irishmen there, who illustrate anew their Efreedom-loving ancestry, and the martial
 fame of their race. There are Scotchmen
 there, born of Bruce and Burns. There
 are Englishmen there, children of Shakes peare and Wellington. There are Ger I mans there, beloved heirs of fame and victory, who marched hot foot to the ] sound of our guns. There are French men there, sons of that race who twice within century brought the valor of Marengo to our banners of the free.
 Now that the battle roar dies away in the distance, what choral harmonies come flooding in from 30 years ago Pipes of the Scottish border; sounds of the English lanes; strains of the Mar seiliaise; songs of the Fatherland; {; chants of the Emerald Isle; and rising above them all like soul set free, the roll of the Appomattox drums, chanting for the ages our Litany of the Knights !"
 After the reading of the roll call by Adiutant Kellogg the hymn, America, was sung by the whole congregation. The benediction was pronounced by Rev L. K. PaDgburn. The company then ad- iourned to the cemetery where the graves were decorated by the Veterans, the Sons