Wood River times. [volume] (Hailey, Idaho) 1882-1915, 1886-06-01

4 NOh WIN anu ldtIlCIllIlRS, Out
with paans of praise and thanksgiv-
ing for the noble men who fought and
fell for honor's sake, to the sacred
spots where rest the brave, and there
baptize their graves with flowers.
To those of US who were too Young
to join the armies, a retrospection of
the war time is tame and full of sor-
row. Robbed of its excltements, war
is horror, and the contemplation of
it more frightful than Medusa's head.
We cannot feel the thrill which nerves
the soldiers soul mid scenes of death.
We cannot feel that exaltation which
makes him fearless in the fight. We
better comprehend his WEAKNESS, his
anxious fears, his privations and his
tolls, his thoughts of love and home.
If | were to picture war, it would
not be of an army in the height of
battle depicting the enthusiasm of
the charge with the glow of fear-for-
getting inspiration on the blackened
faces of the men. 1t would rather be
the scene after the battle, in the ST.
lence of the night, broken only with
complainings of the wounded, the
hushed voices of the burial parties,
the sound of pick strokes ana the
grating sound of spades covering the
dead in nameless, unmarked graves
BY lanterns light, a group of men;
and in their midst, upon the ground,
stark and stiff in death, soldier; and
upon his stained and paid face look
of, not SO much of pain, as disap
pointed hope, of longing unutterable,
as if his parted soul had left the i'm
press on his face of its dearest wish
forever lost
And far away, another scene. A
farm gate at close of day; no sound
save the lowing of the cattle and the
hum of summer evening insects. The
air Is heavy with the perfume of the
lllacs. The light from out the open
house door falls upon the figure of
woman at the gate-alone; and on her
face and in her eyes, which gaze along
the dusty road down which her soldier
marched away, the same look of eager
longing, of blasted hope, of supplica-
ton and despair.
The horror of war is not alone in
sceneS,qf blood; not alone in the car
mage of battle and heaps of slain; but
in the desolation of homes, the tears
of orphans and the broken hearts of
mothers and wives.
AS at the death of the first born in
Egypt, the land was filled with desc
ated hearths, with aching breasts and
breaking hearts, from end to end.
| The memory goes back to the years
of the war when boy of Is had to
stay at home, because they would not
let him go, even in the INFANTRY.
Such of us recall the home scenes of
the war and there are many which
can never be etfaced. We remem-
Der the recruiting and the drafts;
the visit to the rendezvous where
many of our older companions were
waiting for orders to march, and how,
at last, they marched away with
bands playing and banners streaming
as if war were but holiday. We
remember, too, the sad faces and the
vacant places they left behind them.
Sometimes one would return on
leave--a live hero-and we "loved
him for the dangers he had passed.
Sometimes one would return to die;
now and again some mothers darling
came-by express, to rest beneath the
falling apple blossoms on the old
farm
We remember going to the village
for the mail, and the letters which
the boys sent home. We remember
the flaming headlines of the tel
5 egraphic news: "Another Great
) Battle!" "Twenty Thousand Killed
and Woundedw and how, with
blanched faces and almost pulse
less hearts, we scanned the fata
, lists we scarce dare read. How we
reioiced at the victories of our side
! how we were cast down at our de-
feats.
, We remember when the boys Gal
, that were left of theni) came march
, ing home again, Up the street will
, swinging pace, bouquets in the muz
+ zles of their muskets, their gay flag
, clinging in tatters to the staff, war
r worn and weary but with faces bright
: ened at the sight of home.
We remember how the Joy and
5 sadness blended, and tears and smile
| were mingled in our universal prayer
Of thanksgiving that the war wa
= ended.
t The people returned easily anc
= naturally to the vacations of peace
S The nation resumed it's ever onward
! march of progress and greatness.
| Thousands of flower decked grave
3 mark to day the hating place in tn
5 march, where we stopped to fight i
S out, and the soil of our loved lant
a is sanctifed with the blood and tear
Y of our noblest and best.
The sacrifice has not been in vain
s With no dissensions, no divisions, n