sp them. We are children, chasing with excited delight beautiful
bubbles floating free in air. We touch them and they vanish. Some objects
are as enduring as the eternal truth of God. We pursue them with the stern
courage of men upborne by the strength of a moral conviction. Though, in
the hour of trial and triumph, a crown of thorns be pressed upon our brow,
the memory of a right act, courageously done, will enrich the soul
forever.

The memory of such actions is the richest endowment and the most sacred
acquisition of the loyal volunteer. How little all that can be given him
as a reward for his services must ever be in comparison with that which he
has by right of his own achievement.

Ask him now how he values his memory of that day when, with his regiment,
he first left home for the scenes of war. Can the picture ever fade?
Streets thronged with the populace and decorated with the flag he was to
defend! Can he ever forget the holy inspiration of the silent cheer from
his speechless father, mother, sister or lover as he passed them?

Ask him how he values his memory of a thousand incidents of army life that
are never recorded by a single line on the page of history, but which
revealed comrade to comrade, knotted life to life, and gave opportunity
for the expression of nobility by noble men.

Ask him how he values his memory of the hours of conflict when the
magnetic touch of elbow to elbow, comrade to comrade, gave courage and the
line grew firm as adamant; when the spirit of those who fell entered into
those who remained, as the dying transformed their unwilling groans into
cheers for the living. In the crucible of conflict men become molten.
Their blood mingles. Their souls blend. Their lives are fused into the
life of the Nation. Who that has felt the mystic power, the grand
exaltation, the unutterable joy of that supreme moment when his heart's
blood leaped forth as he fell at his post, would call back one drop of it
for all that can be given him in return?

Ask him now how he values the memory of that day, when, duty done, his
mission accomplished, with tattered battle flags, clothes soiled and torn,
bronzed face and hardened muscles--it may be with scarred and disabled
body--he returned to his home with the survivors of his regiment. Again
the streets are thronged with the populace and decorated with the National
colors. The storm cloud passed, all are wild with joy made solemn by
thoughts of those who coul