Norwich bulletin., 1913-06-07

( Written Specially for The Bulletln.)
 There, I must confess myself wea- ry," sighed the old bugle at the close Of Memorial day. T think I must be growing old, fer the excitement of the day tells on me as 1t never used to do; but l am always glad when the day comes around each year. l am val ued too highly to be often used on oth- CT occasions, but on Memorial day the honor due me causes me to be used in preference to any other instrument
 The day stirs up many a reminis- cence of old war times, and those were times to try meps souls. The heart of bugle can be stirred more than it is given credit for. Well do I remember when I was so proud to be given to my owner, who has always tenderly cared for me. There is a bond of sympathy between us made of experience in many hours of mutual danger and mutual devotion to duty.
 Tn my youth I found enjoyment in calling the soldiers to their daily tasks, and at night sent them to their we'll earned rest. No sweeter tones could be uttered than I blew to call them from slumber, and, fair or foul, they faithfully responded to my bidding. No more loving goodnight could their mothers at home have given than I tried to express when the hour came for that signal. When in camp during a lull in the strife. many an hour have I been used for their enjoyment, and how I loved the old camp songs which the men so frequently sang to my leadership. They did not know what pleasure took in those dear old songs, but my heart was full to overfowing when I felt the lips of my master send ing the warm breath of life through to express myself in those mellow tones, while the men thought of the dear ones at home, as they sang in happy chorus.
 Not that it was all pleasure. My saddest times were when I was called upon to sound the farewell over the grave of some brave man, whose ca reer was brought to an untimely end. Then after battle there were the dead and wounded to care for, and often I was obliged to witness much suffering. and well I knew that for those poor fellows there would be no more bugle blasts, and that their loved ones would be overwhelmed with mourning. How I wished I could comfort them! If they only knew the feelings of my soul, they would have realized that even a bugle could sympathize with them in their sorrow. Far away in New England or still farther away in the west many a lad, now living in middle life, must be able to recall what I did for him in his camp life, and I am happy to feel that a tie still exists between us.
 Once was lost for time, and how miserable a lot was mine. A mys- tery still involves my career during that period. Could I talk freely. how gladly would I tell all that occurred during my captivity. Captured by some enemy or mischiefmaker, 1 found out what imprisonment must have been to our brave men of fifty years ago. I've often heard them tell oL their sufferings and attempts at es- cape, and as I lay cast aside and ne glected, my greatest misery was that I was banished from the companion ship of my master. and 1 know he mourned for me. and often wondered as to my whereabouts.
 At last I was recovered, and no one knows to this day how I came from my hiding place. I could tell. but oa such topics my notes are mute. How glad I was to be restored to my own CT! How delighted he seemed to re- cover me! Tenderly he handled me, and there were tears in his eyes, and a tremor in his voice. as he realized that his old friend was once more in his keeping Yes, I would tell, if could, of neglect and loneliness beyond all words to express. What led my captors to restore me. I never knew. Perhaps the caprice that stole me