urlesque in that
shape.

We had a Peace Jubilee here after the Spanish War. Out West they don't
believe this, because they said, "Philadelphia would not have heard of
any Spanish War until fifty years hence." Some of you saw the procession
go up Broad Street. I was away, but the family wrote to me that the
tally-ho coach with Lieutenant Hobson upon it stopped right at the front
door and the people shouted, "Hurrah for Hobson!" and if I had been
there I would have yelled too, because he deserves much more of his
country than he has ever received. But suppose I go into school and
say, "Who sunk the _Merrimac_ at Santiago?" and if the boys answer me,
"Hobson," they will tell me seven-eighths of a lie. There were seven
other heroes on that steamer, and they, by virtue of their position,
were continually exposed to the Spanish fire, while Hobson, as an
officer, might reasonably be behind the smoke-stack. You have gathered
in this house your most intelligent people, and yet, perhaps, not one
here can name the other seven men.

We ought not to so teach history. We ought to teach that, however humble
a man's station may be, if he does his full duty in that place he is
just as much entitled to the American people's honor as is the king upon
his throne. But we do not so teach. We are now teaching everywhere that
the generals do all the fighting.

I remember that, after the war, I went down to see General Robert E.
Lee, that magnificent Christian gentleman of whom both North and South
are now proud as one of our great Americans. The general told me about
his servant, "Rastus," who was an enlisted colored soldier. He called
him in one day to make fun of him, and said, "Rastus, I hear that all
the rest of your company are killed, and why are you not killed?" Rastus
winked at him and said, "'Cause when there is any fightin' goin' on I
stay back with the generals."

I remember another illustration. I would leave it out but for the fact
that when you go to the library to read this lecture, you will find this
has been printed in it for twenty-five years. I shut my eyes--shut them
close--and lo! I see the faces of my youth. Yes, they sometimes say
to me, "Your hair is not white; you are working night and day without
seeming ever to stop; you can't be old." But when I shut my eyes, like
any other man of my years, oh, then come trooping back the faces of
the loved and lost of long ago, and I know, whatever men may say, it is
evening-t