eulogist. His name is indelibly engraved upon
the hearts of his countrymen. His services attest his greatness. He did
his duty and trusted to history for his meed of praise. The more
history discusses him, the more brilliant becomes the lustre of his
deeds. His record is like a torch; the more it is shaken, the brighter
it burns. His name will stand imperishable when epitaphs have vanished
utterly, and monuments and statues have crumbled into dust; but the
people of this great city, everywhere renowned for their deeds of
generosity, have covered themselves anew with glory in fashioning in
enduring bronze, in rearing in monumental rock that magnificent tribute
to his worth which was to-day unveiled in the presence of countless
thousands. As I gazed upon its graceful lines and colossal proportions I
was reminded of that child-like simplicity which was mingled with the
majestic grandeur of his nature. The memories clustering about it will
recall the heroic age of the Republic; it will point the path of loyalty
to children yet unborn; its mute eloquence will plead for equal
sacrifice, should war ever again threaten the Nation's life; generations
yet to come will pause to read the inscription which it bears, and the
voices of a grateful people will ascend from the consecrated spot on
which it stands, as incense rises from holy places, invoking blessings
upon the memory of him who had filled to the very full the largest
measure of human greatness and covered the earth with his renown.
[Applause.]

An indescribably touching incident happened which will ever be memorable
and which never can be effaced from the memory of those who witnessed
it. Even at this late date I can scarcely trust my own feelings to
recall it. It was on Decoration Day in the City of New York, the last
one he ever saw on earth. That morning the members of the Grand Army of
the Republic, the veterans in that vicinity, arose earlier than was
their wont. They seemed to spend more time that morning in unfurling the
old battle flags, in burnishing the medals of honor which decorated
their breasts, for on that day they had determined to march by the house
of their dying commander to give him a last marching salute. In the
streets the columns were forming; inside the house on that bed, from
which he was never to rise again, lay the stricken chief. The hand which
had seized the surrendered swords of countless thousands could scarcely
return the pressure of the fr