Cincinnati daily press. [volume] (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1860-1862, 1862-02-04
Camp Life on sundny-sceues Cairo.

A correspondent of the Boston Journal
writing from the Federal camp at Cairo, ILL.,,
thus describes Sunday scene:
Picking our way along the sidewalk we
met crowd of citizens and soldiers. The
stops are open. Here is a man returning
tIum market with fresh beef pork, potatoes
and turnips in his basket. Ats gingerbread
stall u half dozen soldiers are taking lunch.
The tobacco shops and oyster saloons are
tbropged. The men who keep stationery
and yellow covered novels for sale-the "Pi-
rate of the Cult" the Legend of the Rocky
Mountains" Maggie Merton, or the Dis
owned"-have a crowd at their counters.
The artists have their saloons open. Through
an open door | see soldier in position be-
fore the camera, sitting for his Daguerreo-
type. The train is just in from Chicago,
bringing the papers, and the boys are crying
the IL est intelligence. The clothing stores,
the groceries, the variety stores, are all open;
the wholesale dry and heavy goods stores
only are shut. The Quartermaster, the Com
u ssary, are at their Offices. A gentleman
passed Just now bearing big book under
his arm. "Ah," said he, with sigh, to me-
there is no rest for the weary" War is
iuexorable in its demands. Truly it has
been said there is no Sunday in war.
Various are the lights and shades. There
the hospital. A file of soldiers is at the door,
and wagon. Two soldiers enter the build.
ing and return bringing plain coffin. They
lay it in the wagon. The fife begins its
nOurnful notes, the drum its muffled beat.
With reversed arms they move away, bear
ing to his last home their comrade. There
is something in such a scene to touch the
heart of the hardest mau, A few months
ago and he, the dead, was a citizen, with no
thought of being a soldier. But in the hour
of his country's danger he became patriot,
ready to die in her defense. He is dead. He
has yielded to disease, not to the enemy. If
be had not become soldier, he might for
aught we know, have been alive and well
to-day, The greatest losses of armies are
not on the battle. field, but in hospitals. Far
from home and friends, with none but
strangers to attend him, to minister to his
wants, to comfort him, to talk to him OF a
better world than this, he gave up his life for
his country.
A week hence, in some farm house or
village, ford father or mother will break
the seal of letter. They will read the sad
news, written by strangers hand, that
their son is no more. In many cottage
! among the New England hills such letters
have been received. But will not dwell
upon this scene, lest l awaken sad thoughts
| in the mind of many mourner.
should like TO have an artist in front oi
the Presby terian Church to sketch the scene
Here we are cleaning our boots before enter
| ing The house. Our pants are tucked inside
the boot-legs, and here we stand, fifteen OF
twenty OF US, minister included, cleaning up
each with stick scraping off the mud. Some
of US stand upon the steps leading to the
church-some have one foot upon the fence
but we are all bowed down. Without any
approach TO irreVerence, we may say thai
| our feet have stood in mirY places. do moi
see how it is possible for men to be very
| godly in this place, for among the virtues
Cleanliness is next to gOdliness. Here it ii
a natural inability for man to be clean
Memory will retain as one of the most ludi
crous scenes of life this days scrape before
the church at Cairo.