The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1886-05-19
@pECoRATIoN DAY,
A Touching Incident Of Memorial Day BY
Private DAlEsn,

DECORATION DAY.
A Touching Incident Of Memorial Day BY
Private DRlEsn,
In 1875 / went with my son Monroe,
since dead. TO MCConnslsville, Ohio, to de-
liver an address on Decoration Day. Early
in the morning l put my manuscript in
my pocket and went out with my boy to
take q walk through the beautiful suburbs
Of the town, intending when | reached .
quiet, shady place to glance over my notes
and complete my address for the occasion
In the afternoon. Truly "Man proposes
but God disposal THE unexpected"
awaited me, as usual. That manuscript
was to be superseded by the most striking
lesson or theme ever before impressed on
my heart. As We walked along leisurely
chatting that beautiful morning, Just as
we came to q crossing in the street, an old
lady, on Crutches, dressed in deep mourn
ing, passed before us, hobbling across the
street. She glanced up with her brilliant
black eyes, and recognizing me instantly
turned around and hobbled toward me,
calling me by name. It had been sixteen
years since | had left her house at WASH
~ington, Pennsylvania, but l saw, despite
the havoc that time and suffering had
made in her splendid face and figure, that
she was Mrs, MCCollum, mother Of Bar.
clay McCollum, a ClGssmate OF mine at
Washington College and q Comrade in the
war, Her noble son had been in the grave
since the day he fell mortally wounded in
the front line Of the charge near me ut
Winchester, Va.
The tears came TO our eyes mutually
as we stopped there in the street, she
speaking to me as II l were q son, to her
as i would to my mother. My little boy
looked up and wondered, It was all q
mystery to him then, but now alas! he has
preceded US in its solution and passed be-
hind the cloud to the light himself,
But | must vary from these reflections
and to my little story ere | grow weAEi,
some. Alasl the shadow Of Death crosses
our path at every turn even OF the plain
est story, so,
could not resist her invitation and fol-
lowed her home. It was a place Of quiet
beauty and nestledin shadows Of trees and
vines and flowers,
As l entered the door Barclay rose OF
rather walked from the adjoining room
directly in front to receive and welcome
me. Large, above six feet two, a dark
smooth face, black eyes, raven hair, 4
strong, handsome man OF twenty there
he stood unchanged and the old smile on
his red lips-but an instant, the illusion
vanished. II was not Barclay. All, mol
only his portrait large, clear and life sizs.
II was complete for the moment, the
illusion | mean, and il Barclay MCCOllum
had stepped from the wall, as he seemed
in reality to do as | entered the room, my
emotions would not have been less intense
than they were.
Such experiences Come seldom I'M life,
and belong to that class Of "things in
heaven and earth" held exempt from the
philosophy, not only Of HOratio but Of all
mortals below tho skies. l do not pre-.
tend to explain-I only narrate the fact.
But what had yet to hear was stranger
far than sven this mysterious and mex.
pliCable halluCination, though 1t Is true
that what follows belongs to that philoso.
ply Of which every mothers heart holds
the key.
"And is 1t like him ?" inquired the
mother, in q voice trembling with a grief
that was slowly breaking her heart.
Him" neither OF US had mentioned since
l had met her on the street. She knew
my thoughts-herB were always the same
always OF "him," Barclay MCCollum.
l hardly knew how to reply. Like
him." what should | say? For a moment
1t was 80 like him that l had reached out
my hand to shake hands with him. Sin.
Cerity in such presence we're a crime little
less than unpardonablei Candor the high.
est plainest duty. So | simply spoke tho
truth and said, with as much composure
as l could command: "Indeed | thought
1t was Barclay himself" My son smiled
with inCredulity, and others present
looked a pardon for what they deemed q
bit Of ilattery to the stricken mother. Not
so with her, looking straight at me with
her sad dark eyes, she merely said:
~ think so for hours myself, and am
unhappy when l realize the illusionA
"Wh0 painted it?" Inquired.
Her reply vas a fresh surprise as she
soitly said, a." and become silent and
looked at the picture as only a mother can
look at an only son.
"Haye you the photograph from which
you painted it?" She smiled m%ourniully
and laid her wasted right hand on her
heart and uttered not a word
"You surely do not mean that you
painted 1t from memory 2" l asked. lin.
deed l needed no other model or image OF
my noble boy. He Is always before me
as young and strong and beautiful as he
was the day he kissed Inc an eternal good
bye" And Tor the frBt time her Compos.
uTe gave way and Bhe bowed her head and
sobbed Conyulsively. After a silence OF
some moments she recovered herself and
added, "but you must not Judge OF my
picture now. Wait until l am dead" /
hardly knew what to say, for the scene
was becoming painful. 20, 1t is q good
picture Of Barclay, az like him as ever II
can be-"
"You misunderstood me-" she rejoined
In a tirmer voice. ~ have not finished IL
yet. 1 shall work on It az long as l live.
That Is what l meant when l told you not
to judge this poor image too critically
until the hand OF death shall have put
the last touch to It," As she said this a
sweet seraphic smile broke over her
pallid features, and sadness and signing
seemed to have flown away in the prospect
Of the release from the thralldom Of life
opened so inyitingly before her.
l can well believe that grief can lie 80
heavy on the eyelids as to make the
gaps Of the grave shine with wonderful
fascination, though l could not under.
stand 1t then. AS l rose to 90 she babe
me good bye as tenderly as II she had
been my mother, and the recollection oil
that meeting in the morning haunts me
yet with a beauty and a power and a
mystic touch that l have tried in vain q
thousand times TO express,and always and
everywhere In vain.