The whole country claimed these
heroes as part of themselves. They were not soldiers by
profession or from love of fighting; they had become soldiers
only to save their country's life. Now, done with war, they were
going joyously and peaceably back to their homes to take up the
tasks they had willingly laid down in the hour of their country's
need.
Friends loaded them with flowers as they swung down the Avenue--
both men and officers, until some were fairly hidden under their
fragrant burden. Grotesque figures were not absent, as Sherman's
legions passed with their "bummers" and their regimental pets.
But with all the shouting and the joy there was, in the minds of
all who saw it, one sad and ever-recurring thought--the memory of
the men who were absent, and who had, nevertheless, so richly
earned the right to be there. The soldiers in their shrunken
companies thought of the brave comrades who had fallen by the
way; and through the whole vast army there was passionate
unavailing regret for their wise, gentle and powerful friend
Abraham Lincoln, gone forever from the big white house by the
Avenue--who had called the great host into being, directed the
course of the nation during the four years that they had been
battling for its life, and to whom, more than to any other, this
crowning peaceful pageant would have been full of deep and happy
meaning.
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