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 and to many of us—sacred spot, and from our common grief derive a closer bond. My friends, I feel that this is scarcely a fitting occasion to speak at length of the terrible struggle which, for a while, rent this great continent. The war is ended, the strife has ceased, the result has been accepted, and all that we can do is to pray that a bright future still awaits the Sunny South. But I cannot resist the opportunity of saying that my heart—aye, and the hearts of thousands of my countrymen—were with you in that hour of agony. We felt, instinctively, that you were fighting for your hearths and homes, and I know no greater heroes in the annals of the Old or New Worlds than Generals Lee or Jackson, and many other of your leaders. Why, to us Scotchmen, these men appeared, not only as brilliant commanders, but as the very incarnation of patriotism and self-sacrifice, recalling to us the magic names of our Wallace and of our Bruce. True, your leaders did not win success, but they did better, they deserved it; and even the graves of your dear departed proclaim the truth, that there is no nobler sentiment or abiding virtue than the love of country and of independence. They are gone, but their spirits still dwell among us. What might have been, under different auspices, and had success crowned your leaders' arms, I know not; but of this I am certain, that they have bequeathed to you a heritage of patriotism and renown which most nations may well covet, and which you cannot too highly prize.
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