In order to be true to ourselves and those who shall come after us, we must cherish and record the deeds of those who have gone before us as the master spirits of our race. Among these the pioneers who took their lives in their hands to carve out homes for themselves and their children, dare not be forgotten.

The muse of poetry and the muse of history must be invoked, as we have invoked them here to-day, in behalf of one of

"The few, the immortal names
That were not born to die."

The contemplation of noble characters and great achievements is in itself ennobling. It lifts us out of the narrow rut of our own selfishness into a higher and purer atmos

phere.

Anniversary commemorations, orations, poems, historical records, monuments such as I hope to see crown these hills in honor of Bouquet, these enshrine, crystalize, and localize, great and decisive events.

They are educational and stimulating to the young in the highest degree. As the soul of Thucyides was enthused with the lofty resolve to emulate the works of Herodotus when he heard them read for the first time at the Olympic games, so amid such scenes as these the young and gifted sons of genius feel within them the kindlings of high and honorable effort.

"Immortal fame is a grand thought,

It is worthy the toil of the noble hearted."

"Fame is a spur to brave and honest deeds

And who despises fame will soon renounce the virtues that deserve it."

But fame must have an enduring basis of genuine worth and merit; fraud and falsehood vitiate everything that they touch. Not only the makers, but the lovers of lies, shall be excluded from the company of the blessed in the New Jerusalem above. We must love and seek truth as the jewel of the soul, as the pearl beyond all price, as that which allies us to the great and omnipotent Jehovah. Justice and judgment are the habitation of His throne, the place where His Honor dwelleth.

The poorest widow, with a just cause, is stronger before

The

the final tribunal of history and of God than the mightiest monarch that ever sat upon an earthly throne. hypocrite's hope shall perish.' "The refuge of lies shall be swept away." There is a Nemesis of History which sooner or later avenges the wrongs of the past and vindicates with just judgment the inexorable claims of truth and righteousness.

The locomotive may take the place of the pack horse, the four horse reaper and steam separator may take the place of the sickle and the flail of our forefathers, the telegraph may take the place of the express rider, and ten thousand other improvements be made in art and science and material industries, but the old-fashioned principles of morality and religion are unchangeable, and eternal "Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, to-day and forever." "The holiest among the mighty, and the mightiest among the holy, who with His pierced hands has lifted empires off their hinges, turned the streams of centuries, and still governs the ages.

As Julia Ward Howe has expressed it in the Grand Battle Hymn of the Republic:

Let the Hero born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat,
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;
O, be swift, my soul, to answer. Him; be jubilant my feet.
In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me,
As he died to make men holy,

Let us die to make men free,

While God is marching on.

Yes, make men free! free in the highest and noblest sense of that word.

"He alone is free whom the truth makes free, and all are slaves beside."

For the sake of religious principle, our forefathers came to this new world, and we are degenerate sons of noble sires if we barter away the precious birthright. Let us be

true to the God of our fathers, and He will never forsake us.

Men and women of Westmoreland, and all good people here assembled, this is a great day, a "red letter day" in the history of our grand old county.

Here, on this ground, hallowed by the blood and struggles of the Swiss and the Scot, on this historic field of Edge Hill and Bushy Run, let us dedicate our lives anew to the sacred cause of Christian civilization and constitutional liberty.

Bouquet was a free-born Switzer. In the land of Tell and Winkleried he breathed the air of freedom. In the armies of the Dutch Republic, the pioneer of our own great Republic, he gained his first laurels and won distinction. His sword was always drawn in behalf of the land that best represented the cause of civil and religious liberty.

He sincerely loved the British Constitution, the principles of Magna Charta, dear to every Anglo-Saxon heart. He indignantly resigned his high position in the King's service, when he thought it involved some degree of humilia-tion, which he, as a high-souled man, could never brook.

For what he was in himself, for what the poor Swiss boy from the shadow of the Alps made of himself as the peer of the greatest and best among the foremost nations on the face of the earth; for what he did for us and our pioneer ancestors, we commend his example, we honor his memory and invoke for him an undying fame.

"Cold in the dust the cherished form may lie,"

As it has lain for lo! these 118 years, in an unknown grave in the sunny South.

"But that which made this man and men like him, can never die." With Pericles and Edward Everett, we may say of illustrious men, “the whole earth is their sepulchre, and all time the millennium of their glory.”

Oh, land of the brave and free!
Bright as the noonday sun,
Long as your streams shall run,

Let the fame of the Switzer be.

The papers state that Rev. C. Cort spoke in a loud, clear voice, and was frequently applauded.

General Coulter then introduced the poet of the day, who delivered his production in good style, as follows:

THE POEM OF DR. FRANK COWAN.

THE BATTLE OF BUSHY RUN.

What! Poet, wouldst thou sing of war?—of human strife and slaughter? Of severed limbs and shattered bones ?-of heart's-blood shed like water?—

Of Murder in its maddest mood, agasp with fiery breath,

Leaving the world without a sun, a blackened waste in death?

Aye, wouldst thou, in this Christian land, extol the God of War ?—
Or Scythian Sword, the Roman Mars, the Scandinavian Thor,
Or Mexic monster, Hindoo ghoul-whatever it may prove,
Forefend against it, Jesus Christ, thou God of Peace and Love!

Yea, Man of Peace, I sing of war!—of butchery and blood!—

Heads hot with rage, hearts hard with hate, and hands with gore imbrued!

Destruction crushing into dust the noblest forms of earth

Th' Eternal and the Infinite unite in giving birth!

Yea, war! red-handed, raging war! in its most direful form;
The struggle for existence in a fierce organic storm!

The lightning's flash, the dart of death, the sword, the barb, the ball!
The thunder's crash, the vanquisht's groan, the victor's shout o'er all!
Sublime, thou call'st the storm at sea, the wind and wave contending,-
Sublime, the earthquake suddenly the very mountains rending,-
And the volcano belching fire and smoke for miles afar,-
But what are these but bubbles when compared with human war!

Consider, for a moment, MAN, the all-involving world
Turned outside-in in flesh and blood, and into action whirled—
Sphere crushing sphere, sun burning sun, an universal jar !—
And thou canst measure if thou wilt the majesty of war!

But why this eulogy of war, this bright and happy day,
Within this peace-appareled wood, in holiday array,
Where men and women, boys and girls, commingle without strife,
As if with darkness Death had left the world to light and Life!
Here, where we stand, the battle raged the hosts contending, those
Whom time and place and circumstance had made relentless foes-
The Civilized and Savage man—the White and Red of hue-
The East and West of place of birth—the Old World and the New !
A symbol battle of the world! A race opposing race,
Expanding in significance throughout all time and space;
The victory declaring for the good above the evil,—
Life over Death,-Heaven over Hell,-
-a God above a Devil!

In proof whereof, The Continent, from one sea to the other,
To fifty millions of mankind a mighty nation-mother !—

Her breasts outnumbering countlessly the dugs of the Diana
The old Ephesians painted black-Earth bearing Man and Manna!

A mother to increase until exhausted with old age,

Five hundred million sons or more in civil strife engage

Depopulating cities, states-leaving the land a prey

To those by might and worth decreed, a better race than they!

So Rome and Greece, and Egypt fell-the glories of an age,
In the unfinished book of time a multilated page;

Like ox and ass with broken backs, their usefulness outlived,
The world the better for their death, their ultimate achieved!
So Turkey, China fall to-day-their masses much more fit
To mingle with the mundane mud than to emerge from it;
Like the Great Auk and Dodo, or the Saurians of the Past,
The world the better for their bones in solid stone encased!
Then let the cheer go round and round, for war, relentless war!
That purifies the planet till it glows a heavenly star!
Sweeping away the weak and vile-as in this very wood-
Leaving the globe a heritance to him of worthiest blood!

Aye, let the cheer go round and round, in honor of the few
Who on this field of battle won a New World for their due-
This glorious Land of Liberty! the worth-reward of Man !
AMERICA, the Mighty, where HE IS THE KING THAT CAN!

This closed the literary exercises of the forenoon. It was now after twelve o'clock and the meeting'took a recess for dinner.

DINNER.

In families and groups of families the vast assemblage partook of a pic-nic dinner in the grove and adjacent fields. Everybody seemed to be in excellent spirits and a grand good time they had of it. The trip to the battle-field, the bracing and balmy air and the pleasurable excitement of the occasion added a relish to the repast by increasing the keenness of the appetite. The lemonade and restaurant stands did a thriving business. Not a few persons lost their friends in the crowd and had to depend upon some good Samaritan for rations. Rev. Cort, in a vain attempt to find his commissary stores, ran across Gen. Beaver and his three boys who had just come upon the grounds. The General's horses were provided for in Wannamaker's barn and the