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 friendly grasp.  The voice which had cheered on to triumphant victory the legions of America’s manhood, could no longer call for the cooling draught which slaked the thirst of a fevered tongue; and prostrate on that bed of anguish lay the form which in the New World had ridden at the head of the conquering column, which in the Old World had been deemed worthy to stand with head covered and feet sandaled in the presence of princes, kings, and emperors.  Now his ear caught the sound of martial music.  Bands were playing the same strains which had mingled with the echoes of his guns at Vicksburg, the same quick-steps to which his men had sped in hot haste in pursuit of Lee through Virginia.  And then came the heavy, measured steps of moving columns, a step which can be acquired only by years of service in the field.  He recognized it all now.  It was the tread of his old veterans.  With his little remaining strength he arose and dragged himself to the window.  As he gazed upon those battle-flags dipping to him in salute, those precious standards bullet-riddled, battle-stained, but remnants