The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1862-11-20

fall, and you would not withhold me. You will
bid me God speed" l did, though my heart
seemed breaking was proud of him, as
watched his gallant figure, leading his platoon
on that mellow spring afternoon, when, with d
tramp, as of one man, the splendid regiment
marched down Broadway on their way to the
seat of war. But tears dimmed my eyes, till
| could scarcely distinguish my friend-my two
friends for they both were their. But l would
not have recalled those brave men, marching to
their duty.
Pills letters came often. They formed a
brilliant history of the campaigns in which he
was engaged They contained graphic de-
lineation of scenes and occurrences They
were full of soldiers gaiety, and an earnest
mans profound appreciation of passing events.
Here was a comic anecdote of camp llte,t told IN
genuine Irish humor there tribute full OF
pathos to a brave conrad here quaint critl~
que on the ludierous blunders of some lately
made officer; there burst of genuine enthusl-
asm for tho cause and the flag,
I saw him but once, when some IeSlmentai
business brought him home for brief stay
Outwardly he was little changed, except that
his fair cheek was bronzed and his thick curls
had been cut away but his voice had gained q
deeper tone, and habits of command and re-
sponsibility had added something of dignity to
his manner. He told me TINT he was more
than satisfied with what he had done, was glad
that he had offered his life to his country
I have conviction that l shall really lose
it, he said, that last morning, as he sat in his
old place, the stool at my feet. i never think
ofmysef seeing the end of this war but that
is as God wills | am content. Dear madam,
my mother would have laid kiss upon my
brow when parted from her to go to danger.
Will not you 2
l laid my hands upon his dear head, press
ed my lips upon his white brow. felt his kiss
es on the hands he clasped, and, through my
binding tears, l saw him 60. And that was
my farewell
He passed through many battles unframed
He had fever on the Chickahominy and recov-
cred; was in all that terrible week of McClelS
lan's change of base"-was at Seven Oaks and
Malvern Hill. Everywhere his bravery WAS
noticed, among so many brave men. After
Manassas they missed him. and his Captain al
so, my other friend. The field was in the pos
session of the enemy. No one could tell wheth-
er they were killed or prisoners. At length our
army was permitted to bury its dead-and then
they found them.
About six or seven years ago l first met
Captain Graham. Him, also, l first met at
boarding house. 1t is not often one tinds true
grain among the chaff of those places, but had
not long known Mr.. Graham--he was not Cap
N'@N
was genuine, thorough. true man.
He impressed and attracted me but slightly
at first. The SNOWY qualities which take the
imagination by storm, are not always such as
stand unatered the wear md tear OF friend
ship,
/ saw small, sprightly, bgignt-eyed man of
nearly middle age | picture him as he enter
ed the paror the morning after my arrival -
HIS air was light gay, debonair. His bright
eye glanced from object to object, with keen,
enquiring glances. Just behind him-scarce
pace behind-hopped and flnttered bright
pIumagedbird. He followed his master where
yer he went, and l detected a resemblance be-
tween the man aud his pet l had found the
word that described him, as to his exteTnalS'
Those quick, lively movements, those Keen
sidelong gances were they not bird-like?
Bye and bye, learning the history Of the man,
| learn that of the bird. nO longer wondered
that they were so closely associated That
alertness OF manner, those keen,a ll-comprehend-
ing glances, were no longer strange. l saw no"
these characteristics had been acquired, no"
this singular companionship had originated:
Mi Graham, then an artist OF considerable
repute, had been induced to Join an expedi0
sion to the interior of South America-its OBJ
ject being, if remember rightly, to trace the
sources and tributaries Of the Amazon and M
vestigate the resources of that almost unknown
region. Whether it was set on foot by Gov
eminent, or private enterprise, for business or
scientific purposes, do not now remembernor
is il of any moment in this connection Mr..
Graham Joined it; he underwent the disasters
that attended it-hoods and atorms meetings
with hostile natives, the tribes that roam on the
broad savannas, and along the Watercourses OF
that wondrous and mysterious region The
partv lost their boats and stores, and we've sep
arated Mr.. Graham and companion wander
ed for weeks i'll the forest, Subsl5tlng on such
fruits and roots as they dared taste-very few
in their fear of poison-amidst the lushness and
luxuriance of tropical vegetation, and upon the
few birds killed with the few charges of powder
that alone remained after their hurried Hight.
Mr. Graham's companion, stalwart, rudy man
Welded to watching, fatigue and deprivation,
and died His friend dug his grave, and laid
him to his rest, in the depth of the wilderness.
1t was in the first days of the awful solitude
that followed his friends death, that Mr.. Gra-
ham found his bird-a fedgling, fallen from the
tree beneath which he had slept Mr.. Grahans
prison was vast and wild, but prison still. He
cherished his bird as Silvia Pellicc did his flow
er. as others have spider, bright-eyed mouse,
a blade Of grass--anythng to companion the
awful solitude chat ached around him.
A month afcerward, when Providence
brought him to his companions, the bird was
still with him. 1t was with him when. after
strange vicissitudes, he at length landed in New
York. 1t never left him till, in the tuilness Of
his bird-lfe it died not long before the breaks
ing out of the rebellion. Had 1T lived, sup
nnse it would have shared camp life and cam
paigns with its master.
| Hooking at Mr. Graham one would never have
cnessed at the experiences of his life. There
was no trace of feebleness or disease to tell of
the privations and suff9rings of that disastrous
expedition, which had Slapped the strength. and
| DESTROYED the life of the strongest Bright,
! free. JOYOUS, elastic, with certain perennial
youthfulness of air and aspect, in strange cons
! trast TO the white threads strayng through hls
dark hair-thus he presented himself to me,
thus he remained always to the last
The acquaintance commenced thus, did not
end as such acquaintanceships often do, when
we no longer sat at the same table, and abode
under the same roof In a little time l vas
proud to place Mr. Graham's name high in the
list of my friends We met often, and always,
| am sure, with mutual pleasure
| We commenced with increasing confidence
in each other, and soon learned those indvid-
ual oys snd sorrows which are too sacred tor
stranger ears, and discussed together those
hitherto unspoken thoughts and fancles toe
precious for the discussion of unfriendly hands
i Beneath Mr.. Graham's joyous exterior lay
profound depths of earnestuess. he soon be-
came to me a helper. Amidst the struggles Of
my life, the dust and glare of en- unwe!come
publicity, was often conscious OF 4 weakness
of moral vision, and a temporary failure Of mora
strength l knew that HThings are not what
they seem, but often felt myself constrained tc
accept the baser seeming. had long needed
one, stronger than myself, to lift me toward the
serener heights of existence, where, far above
its turmoil and its paltry strifes, could look
abroad over the vast field of its labors and til
rewards, and learn to comprehend their true re
lations, scope and meaning.
This want Mr. Graham supplied. His expe'
rience had been vast His intellect was lOgica
, and acute, in powers ofanalysis wonderful. Hi'
pity, and forbearauce, and tenderness such q:
t can only be attained by truly good man, o
large aud generous nature, who has studied
human hearts in all their phases, and compre
bends alike their wants and their capacities
II 4bair CT Z