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[153] of one to whom they had perhaps denied the barest recognition while he was in their midst.

Perhaps 'tis better so. The lasting monument of Influence, based on the firm pedestal of the human heart, needs time to anchor and take root. But once unveiled, it draws with might and main. Men flock to its foot to find there the inspiration for noble effort or the worthy deed, a sculptured image or the graven word can never give. The poet's unawakened fire is there lashed to flame; philosophers arrest their steps to ponder; the worn and footsore find repose, and others, weaker than the rest, some comfort and some rest.

At certain seasons the magnetic force of such a monument is doubled, trebled. 'Tis then the mind calls afresh in long review the life of virtue and of strength, which gave it birth. And so, on this occasion, the recurring day of death of one whose memory will never fade, stirs me profoundly by the sweetness and the sadness of many recollections.

John Bell Hood was born at Owingsville, Bath county, Ky., June I, 1831. Of an old family, originally coming from Devonshire, England, he inherited from his paternal side the military spirit, which decided his career, and that absolute, unflinching integrity of purpose that knows no bending. No man is greater than his mother—in which rule he was no exception. But through her he was endowed with those greater traits of character—a sympathetic heart, a soul responsive to the noble, great and good—by which nature understands to balance the grosser with the more spiritual, to make one harmonious whole.

Overcoming the opposition of his father—a widely-honored physician, who intended his son for the medical profession—Hood was nominated to the Military Academy at West Point, where he graduated in 1853. For two years he saw service in California, was honorably mentioned in a dispatch in connection with an encounter with Indians, was promoted, and then made cavalry instructor at West Point, a most highly coveted appointment.

Then came a day when his conscience bade him resign his commission. I doubt not, it was a day of struggle and pain for him—for the time of terror and upheaval, when the whole continent was to tremble under the shock of the cannon's roar, and the insatiable thirst of the earth for human blood was to be stirred, was at hand.

Matters of morals, ethics and emotions do not yield to the rigid

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