events, the daily vexations and annoyances--the hot and dusty day
--the sleepless, anxious night--the rain upon the unsheltered
bivouac--the dead lassitude which succeeded the excitement of action
--the cruel orders which recognized no fatigue and made no
allowance for labors undergone--all these small trials of the
soldier's life made it possible to but few to realize the grandeur
of the drama to which they were playing a part. Yet we were not
wholly oblivious of it. Now and then I come across strange evidences
of this in turning over the leaves of the few weather-stained,
dogeared volumes which were the companions of my life in camp. The
title page of one bears witness to the fact that it was my companion
at Gettysburg, and in it I recently found some lines of Browning's
noble poem of 'Saul' marked and altered to express my sense of our
situation, and bearing date upon this very fifth of July. The poet
had described in them the fall of snow in the springtime from a
mountain, under which nestled a valley; the altering of a few words
made them well describe the approach of our army to Gettysburg.

"Fold on fold, all at once, we crowded thundrously down to your
feet;
And there fronts yon, stark black but alive yet, your army of old
With its rents, the successive bequeathing of conflicts untold.
Yea, each harm got in fighting your battles, each furrow and scar
Of its head thrust twixt you and the tempest--all hail, here we
are."

And there we were, indeed, and then and there was enacted such a
celebration as I hope may never again be witnessed there or
elsewhere on another fourth of July. Even as I stand here before
you, through the lapse of years and the shifting experiences of the