Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1904-07-26

services. He had been treated with
the greatest respect by the enemy, for
CORVALLIS was always quick to rec0g.
nize and respect q gallant soldier. The
kindly Quakers had spared neither
time nor trouble to tighten his dying
hours, and the women Of the house.
hold nursed him with gentle and as
siduous care. He passed away ten
days after the battle, leaving to his
descendants the untarnishcd name Of
gallant soldier and gentleman, who
never faltered In the pursuit Of bis
high ideals Of duty. Brief as had been
his career as n general in the RevOlu-
ton. his memory is still cherished by
grateful posterity as one Of the first
heroes Of that mighty struggle for
liberty.
Details of the British were already
marching toward the field Of action to
engage in the melancholy work Of
burying the dead when Seymour. un-
der Major Armstrong; guidance, went
over the ground in search for Talbot.
He had no difficulty in finding the
place where his friend had fallen. The
field had not been disturbed by any
one. 4 bloody frozen mass Of ice and
snow had shown where Mercer had
fallen. and across the place where his
feet had been lay the body Of Talbot.
In front Of him lay the lieutenant with
whom he had fought, the sword still
buried in his breast; farther away were
the two men that the general and he
had cut down I'm the first onslaught,
and at his feet was the corpse Of the
man he had last shot, his stiffened
hands still tightly clasping his gun.
Seymour with sad heart stopped
and turned over the body Of his friend,
lifting his face once more to that heav-
en lie had saZed upon so bravely few
hours since-for IL was morning again,
but oh. how different. The face was
fovered with blood from the wound In
the forehead, by which he had been
beaten down. Sadly, tenderly, CRATE
fully. remembering an hour when Tai
bot had knelt by his side and perform
ed a similar service, he endeavored to
wipe the lurid stains from OF his mar
Die brow. Then thought came to
him. Taking from his breast katha-
rine's handkerchief, which had never
left him. he moistened it in the snow.
and, finding all unStained place where
her dainty hand had embroidered her
initials tx. w." he carefully wiped
rlean the white face Of his dead friend.
There was a little smile upon TalbOt's
lips and look Of pence and calm upon
his face which Seymour had not seen
him wear since the sinking Of the frIg-
ate. His right hand, whittier than the
lace which dropped over ii. was press
ed against kis heart. evidently as the
result Of his last conscious movement.
Seymour bent down and lifted ii up
gently: there was something beneath
1t inside his waistcoat. The young
sailor reverently inserted his hand and
drew Il forth. 1t was Il plain gold
locket. Touching the spring 1t opened.
and there were pictured the faces OF
the two women Talbot had loved-On
the one side the mother. stately, proud.
handsome, rcsolute. the image OF the
man himself; on the other. the brown
eyes and the fair hair and the red lips
q p. ri Wilton ThnIl.
was Il letter, too, i'm the pocket. The
havnnpt thrust which had reached his
heart had gone through II. and 1t. and
the lOcket Also was stained with blood.
The letter was addressed to Seymour.
Wondering. he broke the seal and read
1t. 1t was Il brief note. written in
camp the night Of the march. 1t would
seem that Talbot had a presentiment
that he might die in the coming con-
fict; indeed, the letter plainly showed
that he meant to seek death, to court
IL I'm the field. His mother was to be
told that liz Lad done his duty ana
had not f:..rI in sustaining the uadi-
tions of his honorable house; and tile
honest. soldierly little note ended with
these words:
AS for yea. my dear Seymour. would
that fate had been kinder to you. Were
Katharine alive, | would crave your PER-
mission 10 say these words to her: Il love
YOU. Kate-Ive always loved you-but the
better man has won you Ly best love
to the old mother. Won't you take II to
her? And soodby, and God bless you.
HILARY TALBOT.