leave him without being charmed with his deportment. But the great secret of his success in conciliating lay not in his native gentleness alone, but in being right and just, and in making others feel that he was. The polish of his manners was derived from nature rather than from art; he had a natural sweetness and softness of temper seldom found in heroes. His ear was ever open to the complaints and requests of the poor soldier, as well as to the suggestions and propositions of his subordinate officers. Yet amid this freedom of intercourse-for he could not bear to have the trammels of stiff ceremony thrown around him—a quiet dignity pervaded all his actions and movements, which was felt by all who came into his presence, which challenged respect, inspired confidence and awakened a love which with his soldiers amounted almost to idolatry.

The severest rebuke he was ever known to give was administered to a young officer just from West Point, whom he overheard abusing a subordinate because he was a volunteer. The young man never forgot the lesson, and I am happy to say it made a very good soldier out of what then appeared to be very poor material. With all the pride of class which belongs to the West Point graduate, McPherson was cast in a mold too grand and expansive to confine his fellowship and sympathy within the narrow limits of the trained military circle. The cadet and the volunteer, loyal to their country and faithful in their duties, were alike objects of his love and sympathy. He never felt called upon to attribute their soldierly conduct to anything but love of country. To his high appreciation of Western volunteers can be attributed much of McPherson's success as a commander of these forces. They felt that they were properly appreciated by him, that they would always receive at his hand their appropriate share of commendation for any successes achieved. And what was still dearer to the Western volunteer they felt that, although a commander, he looked upon himself more as a comrade than a superior.

There was no flagging of regiments while he was in command as each, emulous of his praise, was anxious to be assigned to the post of responsibility and danger. Officers felt no hesitancy in approaching him, and deemed themselves fortunate when ordered to report to headquarters. As a consequence of this friendly intercourse and unanimity of feeling, having a universal love of the commander as the binding cord, the marching of the army was

without clashing or confusion; each division and regiment, and each officer, from the highest to the lowest, vieing with each other in the honorable strife to carry out most completely and acceptably the orders of their chief.

Uniting with consummate engineering skill an untiring personal supervision of his army, there was not an hour during the time he was in command in which he was ignorant of the position or condition of any brigade, division or corps of his command. His well-trained mind seemed to bear in it a map on which every movement and change was delineated, and to which he could instantly refer whenever necessary.

His quick ear, which, like every other part of his physical frame, was trained for the work it had to perform, was the first to catch the sound of an opening contest. No sooner was the first note heard than he was off to the threatened point, riding along the line of skirmishers, amid the huzzas of his men, utterly regardless of his own safety. Not even Henry of Navarre, the most gallant knight of his day, or the noted Chevalier Bayard, surpassed McPherson in their utter unconsciousness of fear. When he entered into the contest with rebellion he gave his life to his country, and ever afterwards regarded it no longer his own but his country's, and to be used only for the salvation of the Union; if its sacrifice was required he was ready at any moment to make it, and hence he appeared never to give the subject a thought. Although never guilty of foolish daring or feats of useless and uncalled for bravery, yet here seemed to lay his only fault as a commander, that he did not sufficiently regard his own life; his daring bravery too often exposing him, where by care it might have been avoided. He appeared to forget that it was as much a duty to preserve his life for his country as to risk it for it.

Among his numerous accomplishments McPherson was conspicuously noted for his splendid horsemanship; and as we think of him now, his form appears before the mind seated on his favorite steed, which he rode after the battle of Shiloh to the day of his death at Atlanta. So true is this that I have no doubt that whenever his name is mentioned in the hearing of any officer or soldier of his command, it is thus memory brings him before the mental eye.

The artist in modeling the statue before us has evidently caught the inspiration of McPherson's presence in action, and thus has

been enabled to present his graceful form as it appeared to us on so many hard-fought but victorious battlefields. Booted and spurred, ready for action, impatient and anxious to plunge into battle, as a brave and gallant knight he stands before us. Even the earnest glow of inspiration, seen at such moments on his countenance, seems to have been caught, as well as the beautiful symmetry of his noble form.

Artist, your work is well and skillfully done; every line and curve, every part and feature is true to the original; and though I bear engraved on my memory every lineament and expression of him who was more than companion to me, yet as I compare the two I find nothing wanting which art can supply.

But, alas, art tries in vain to deceive our sorrowing hearts; neither bronze or marble can ever send forth from the cold and rigid eye the keen and vivid flashes of an inward immortal spirit. No pulsating heart beats within, or heaves the throbbing breast. Beautiful as is your work, faultless in conception and perfect in execution, yet the great heart, the generous soul of McPherson is wanting. We see the form, but we miss the fire of that large and penetrating eye, and the vivid glow of that powerful intellect. It is the form, but not the man.

Death, stern, relentless death, heeds not our tears or softens our grief. No more shall we hear his welcome voice; no more will he lead us onward to victory. He is gone, yes comrades of the Army of the Tennessee, your beloved chief, your idolized commander is forever gone, a victim to treason and rebellion, a martyr to the cause of union and freedom. Gone, stricken down by the hand of traitors, in the prime of manhood; a sacrifice offered upon the altar of national unity. But yet he lives in the hearts of his comrades, and in the hearts of a thankful people; and so long as a single member of the glorious old Army of the Tennessee remains, will the image of McPherson be imprinted there in living colors. And when they have all been gathered home, then will their children and their children's children, repeat to each other the story of his gallant deeds and his death, and visit this spot to view his form.

Comrades, behold the image of our General in the bronze now before you, and as the tears well up from their fountains, stay them not, let them flow, let your swelling grief have vent. Tears shed

to the memory of one so noble and true as McPherson, are precious as drops of pearl.

Young men of America, whose hearts burn with a desire to win honorable distinction in the cause of your country, whether in the tented field or the councils of the nation, I would commend to your careful study, the character of him whose statue we here unfold. Not that I would have you take any man as your ultimate standard of perfection, for each generation should aim to reach a point beyond the mark of the preceding. But the study of noble characters will guide you into the road to real fame and true greatness; and in McPherson you have a model well worth copying.

Although possessing a broad heart, expansive views, and versatile talents, yet his history reveals very clearly the fact that he had devoted himself to military science from his youth, and that to this study he bent the full force of his unflagging energy and indomitable perseverance.

As a student, his only criterion was that which Napoleon setsuccess; and as a soldier and commander, he was governed by the same criterion. But in this capacity his idea of success was not limited by the bounds of his own command, or the part assigned to it; success with him in this respect meant the success of the nation, and in this great work, he sought to so identify himself and his command, as that their individuality might be absorbed, and as it were, lost to sight.

Comrades, friends and citizens, be not amazed at the enthusiasm of Union soldiers when they meet together to recount the terrible scenes of the war through which they passed. You who never underwent these, although giving us the full and entire sympathy of your hearts, can no more enter into the deep emotions which stir the depths of our souls, than can the childless maiden fathom the grief of the mother who mourns her only son. You, my comrades, alone know what the salvation of the Union cost. Mourning widows, weeping mothers and grief-stricken fathers, you have felt much of the pangs and sorrows our glorious freedom cost.

Friends and fellow citizens, I know the soldiers and their bereaved families have your warmest and most grateful thanks, and on their behalf I here to-day, in the presence of the form of one of our chief martyrs, thank you with my whole heart-but eternity alone can reveal to you the price of that liberty and peace you now enjoy. The fields of gory dead and ghastly forms, the

shrieks of dying comrades and friends, the hiss of leaden hail, and unearthly shrieks of bursting shell-may fade from the mind of those who heard them only from the lips of others—but from the mind of the soldier they can never fade. Will the soldier of the Army of the Tennessee ever forget the terrible scenes of the bloody field of Atlanta? Never, no never. Then wonder not that the souls of comrades are stirred to their depths when they thus meet together and recount the scenes of the past.

As the years roll back into the great sea of eternity, and our nation floats down the stream of time swelling its pages of history, stronger and stronger will grow the contrast between treason and loyalty, and the great war of the rebellion will be looked upon as the pivot of our history. Then will its heroes be seen in bolder lines than ever before, and then chief among the martyrs will be the names of Lincoln and McPherson. But the long list of the three hundred thousand will not be forgotten.

Therefore, as we place here to-day the marble form of the commander of the Army of the Tennessee, let us fix in the hearts of our youth the great principles by which he was governed, and for which he gave his life.

McPherson the affectionate son, McPherson the model cadet, McPherson the faithful officer, McPherson the fearless soldier, McPherson the devoted friend and magnanimous conqueror, McPherson the pride of the Army of the Tennessee.

"Rest, soldier rest, thy warfare's o'er."

General Logan was listened to by an appreciating audience with marked and defferential attention, his eloquence commended, and his able, finished oration highly praised, and pronounced complete. As he concluded, the Marine Band played the Centennial Exposition March, which closed the ceremonies.