The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1899-01-21
CAMP BOB TAYLOR,
Sancti Spiritus, Santa Clara Prov
ince Cuba.

inCe CUBA.
DEAR TIMEs:-The old year with
its joys and its sorrows has passed
into eternity. Ano. her year is sep
Grated from the chain of ages, and
drops into the gulf Of the past! The
crowd hasten to welcome her young
sister. But while all looks are turn
ed toward, the future, mine revert
to the past. Every ne smiles upon
the new queen; but in spite OF my
self think of her whom time has
just buried. | at least know what
the past year was, and what she
has given; but what does the un-
known future hide? &
VI know not what awaits me,
God kindly wells m;ne eyes;
Der each step of my onward way,
He makes new scenes to rise"
Being in a foreign land causes one
0 think of the past more than he
would were he at home, especially
If one il in camp. Tonight | rub
the "Alladin Lamp of memory
and am quickly transported back
to land better and more beautiful
than any portrayed by the "Tales OF
the Arabian Nights it is the
land, where home and loved ones
are. I am buried in an old easy
chair, my feet on the fender before
a blazing fire, an interesting book
on my lap, my ear soothed by the
voices of those / love, around me all
the comforts of good home. / can
here throw aside the worries and
cares of the cold unfeeling world
feel that there at this home fire.
side, on this New Years night, is
the best place on earth and the i'm
mortal words of John Howard
Payne run through every nook and
corner Of my mind:
enid pleasures and palaces though we
may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place
like home.
A charm from the skies seems to hallow
us there,
Which seek thu oagh the world It's ne'er
met with elsewhere.
But bark! what is that / hear
Has some evil gents stolen the
magical lamp? Surly it is so! Yes
that must be it, for l am suddenly
brought back to a realization OF
where l am by the sound of the
bugle, as "taps" rings out on the
ambient air. AS in the mirages OF
the desert, I have been seeing some
images of which my mind had been
onging for the reality.
To-day I saw a Cuban burial
among the lowly. No hearse, but
strapped across the back of a little
burrow, d dead man in his rough
wooden Coffin, was going to his las
abode, without ceremony, and with
out followers. There was not here
that last friend of the outcast-tht
dog, which the artist has intro
duced as the sole attendant at The
pauper,s burial! He whom they
were preparing to commit to the
earth was going to the tomb, as ht
had lived. Only another victim t.
starvation-the result of the bar
barism of a nation, which claims t(
be civilized.
Meditating upon this scene, | re
turned to camp, where ] saw
around our company kitchens ole
men, women, and children standing
around, Ewith piched faces ant
emanciated forms, eagerly eating
the remains of the bread, which thu
soldiers had given them in charity
Beings like ourselves in destitutiol
uait;np on onr comneSsioni Whole
troops of outcasts, in addition t
The trials imposed upon humanity
have to endure the pangs of hungel
and humiliation. Unhappy Cuba
where man is in worse condition
that the bee in its hive, or the an
i'm its subterranean city!
God in his Infinite mercy frs
sent the American soldier here &