The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1900-02-16
DIR. STRIKERS EuIOgy.

The Presbyterian burial service was
read by Chaplain Pierce, of Lawton's
old command, and President Stryker
then arose to deliver the grafton. He
eulogized Gen. Lawton's military ca
reer and went on to say:
cover the width of the earth a soldiers
household has brought it's warrior home.
The dust that the nation gathers to it's
guarding is that of no common man. We
are met to celebrate and to mourn him.
But while we recall the record so compa ct
with manliness, and which the white bios
som of modesty crowns withal while we
recite the story of one who personified the
best American traditions, first this day do
we regard her sorrow who treads that SOL
emn aisle of pain the sanctity of whose
shadows are accessible only to her God.
And with her we remember, too, for his
true sake who begat them, these four dear
children-daughters of the army, wards of
the people, and son whose best possession
shall ever be his fathers sword. Orphaned
of him indeed his children are, but endowed,
too, with the immutab BILE heritage Of a gall
liant name. 1t is an estate which with all
that appropriately pertains to it this land
Of pure domestic love will thoughtfully and
thankfully administer.
This better Plantaganet, this latest
Bayard without fear and without re-
proach,' this modern Philip Sidney,
whose life was also poetry put into ac-
ton has shown once more of what a
stuff is incorrigble manhood-in what
substance root the memories that last.
For true poet (and so proven) is one
who has written at least some things Of
which no poet that ever lived can have
been ashamed, would gladly have owned;
and a true man is admitted to the fellow
ship of heroes by the equality and peerage
of his supreme deeds.
'In some good day-not far away, please
God-when those islands, foundlings no
longer, shall have been rendered as a ma
jestic deodand to civilization, to regulated
freedom, and to the God of these, there in
fair Luzon right where he fell, front to
his duty, let the valiant frame of this true
Ubarator rise in immutable bronze while,
understanding us at last, our brown broth
ers, gazing upon that statue, stature,
statute, all in one, shall say: He was an
American, but he is ours, too, Lawton. He
was slain by us ignorantly in unbelief; but
he has forgiven.
At the Cemetery.
TWAS a dreary wait on the cold, wind
swept slopes of Arlington for the hun
dreds who had made the pilgrimage
early in the day. But close on sunset
the boom of the Sylph's guns on the
HOlOIndc Was duSNeTeu ny the crash OK
minute guns from Fort Myer, and then
the solemn notes of the dirge was borne
on the wind as the procession moved
through the winding avenues of the
great city of the dead. The grave was
in the open space just south of the am
phitheater and in sight of the Mansion
house. Gen. Merritt and his mounted
staff deployed on the south road, while
solid ranks of dismounted troopers held
back the crowd on every side. Nimble
cavalrymen swarmed over the caisson,
casting loose the lashings, and bore the
coffin to the open grave, while the presi-
dent and the cabinet, with the gray
haired generals, stood silent and bare
headed as the chaplain pronounced the
words of committal that consigned for
ever the honored dust to the dust
whence it came. Then, in answer to a
low command, the firing squad wheeled
into line. The swapping vollies of the
carbines scarcely echoed among the
bare trees, but the wall of the bugle as
it sounded taps fingered long and sadly
in the gray of the winter twilight and
echoed family from the distant hills.
AS it died away the coffin sank from
view.