The New era. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1865-1871, 1867-04-25

headings and propositions of discourse
correspondent to the foundation of an edi-
flee, the bona .fdeand absolute argument
to the general frame work of the struc-
ture, and those facetious aphorisms, with
which he was wont to embellish his TO-
rensic efforts, very happily performed
the functions Of chunking and daub-
ing" and, finally, the loftier flights and
more sonorous defamation, formed as
fine an arch and as vast dome as could
be desired. This comprises the party.
From the college grounds, we strolled
on through the village, now deserted
and silent, until we came on to the rail-
road. Crossing this, we passed mag
nifcent hotel building on the left, set
ting back some distance from the grade,
and surrounded by handsome grounds;
and presently came to the bridge cross
ing the stream which ran through the
" Glenn To the right Of the bridge,
lay the Glenn proper, extending as far
perhaps as two miles below, with an in
termediate breadth of half mile. High
and precipitous cliffs lowered on the
right bank Of the stream, and, on the
left, an elevated table-land extended the
entire length, reaching for miles into the
country at one point. The whole area was
a primeval forest, and on this night pre-
scented fantastic appearance, as seen by
the reflected light Of the moon. But it
is to the left of this bridge, and up the
stream, that our story calls us. The
banks of the stream, above this point,
were craggy, uneven, and precipitous;
growing here and there, at intervals, a
few stunted sycamore and weeping
willows. To the right Of the stream,
and perhaps hundred yards distant
commencing at a point little above the
bridge, and obliquely to the creek, a
hedge of orange WAS planted to point
somewhat in the rear of the cemetery.
This last was about three hundred yards
from the creek and about five from the
bridge. The intervening space was an
uninviting and barren common, bound
ed, on either side, by a thorny and i'm
passable hedge, Or turbulent and dam
geroas stream. Across this common, we
took our way to the nearest and east
side of the cemetery, striking it about
midway, where, all mounting the fence,
With our faces turned toward the center,
we halted for the first time since leaving
the college. This last building was at
least mile off, and doomed up, gaunt
and spectral, against the eastern sky.
Our present extraordinary trysting- place
if | may so term twas a square in
closure Of probably ten acres, having its
principal entrance way on the south
side. I have already mentioned that
we were on the east side, at about q
middle point; and Immediately in front
ofus, and about the centerofthe grounds,
stood some half a dozen monuments,
were more imposing than their neigh
hD7,- aAp4eel 1sii1t4 aF 4I,a ,.,,.ot,t
Parian, lowered among hese,-looking
down, as it were, IN scorn, upon the less
pfetentious memorials which marked
the resting place o. its fellow worms,
sleeping, in that moonlight. the dream
less sleep of death. As | Looked upon
these monuments, the evidences OF
pride, and, l hope, of affection, recall
ed that verse Of Gray's immortal Elegy
"Can storied urn or animated bust
Back toits mansion call the feetng breath?
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust
Or fattery soothe the dull, cold ear of
death ?''
The witchery of the hour and scene,
completely possessed me. 1t seemed to
me, at the time, that peculiar good
fortune had directed our steps to that
retired and quiet spot. TWAS just such
a place as you would desire to commune
for the last time with dear friend, just
such a spot in which to say farewell.
There was nothing wanting to add to
the solemnity of the surroundings or
the impressiyeness of the occasion. The
ashes of the voiceless dead reposed
around us. The sculptured pillars that
marked their silent homes, glistened in
the benignant rays Of the midnight
moon. The trees which adorned that
country church-yard, stood, like SO
many watchful sentinels, over the
"silent City of the Dead" and the
only sound that disturbed the unbroken
quiet, was the murlnur of our voices. as
we talked of the past and planned for
the future. How bright that past! How
glorious that future seemed to us! We
were soon tosay good-by to our dearAlma
Mater, Though as we all hoped tempo
rarily,) and . thousand glorious visions
of future triumphs, and what might be
ours, when we should leave her halls at
last,-bearing her honors and crowned
with her bays,-came thronging on our
minds, bewildering us with their bright
ness. But for myself, in spite of the
nature of our reflections. and what we
would naturally talk about on such an
occasion, could not divest my mind of
the impression made by our peculiar
and ghostly Surroundings. This i'm
nreSSiOn WAS soon to he Stranuthanad