eloved. He is gone; but as we of the present generation remember
it, history will tell all coming centuries the romantic story of the
famous "March to the Sea"--how, in the dark days of 1864, Sherman,
having worked his bloody way to Atlanta, then cast off all his lines of
supply and communication, and, like a bold diver into the dark unknown,
seemed to vanish with all his hosts from the eyes of the world, until
his triumphant reappearance on the shores of the ocean proclaimed to the
anxiously expecting millions, that now the final victory was no longer
doubtful, and that the Republic would surely be saved.

Nor will history fail to record that this great general was, as a
victorious soldier, a model of republican citizenship. When he had done
his illustrious deeds, he rose step by step to the highest rank in the
army, and then, grown old, he retired. The Republic made provision for
him in modest republican style. He was satisfied. He asked for no higher
reward. Altho the splendor of his achievements, and the personal
affection for him, which every one of his soldiers carried home, made
him the most popular American of his day, and altho the most glittering
prizes were not seldom held up before his eyes, he remained untroubled
by ulterior ambition. No thought that the Republic owed him more ever
darkened his mind. No man could have spoken to him of the "ingratitude
of Republics," without meeting from him a stern rebuke. And so, content
with the consciousness of a great duty nobly done, he was happy in the
love of his fellow citizens.

Indeed, he may truly be said to have been in his old age, not only the
most beloved, but also the happiest of Americans. Many years he lived in
the midst of posterity. His task was finished, and this he wisely
understood. His deeds had been passed upon by the judgment of history,
and irrevocably registered among the glories of his country and his age.
His generous heart envied no one, and wished every one well; and
ill-will had long ceased to pursue him. Beyond cavil his fame was
secure, and he enjoyed it as that which he had honestly earned, with a
genuine and ever fresh delight, openly avowed by the charming frankness
of his nature. He dearly loved to be esteemed and cherished by his
fellow men, and what he valued most, his waning years brought him in
ever increasing abundance. Thus he was in truth a most happy man, and
his days went down like an evening sun in a cloudless autumn sky. And