Year: 1865




Aug. Goth, 1865.


Away up, where few, trust, ever explored,
I sit to night. in quiet communion with the
best and bravest horde of aeas, three hours OF
moonlight ever shone upon. Its at country
tavern. the best and only one in town: and
you know what they are, for I fancy it was not
always you found fremont and Newhali &C.
commodations on yous travels.





HANOVER lies IS miles s. F.. of Galena, on
the Apple River. On the road hither today,
I met never.to be mistaken procession, bear.
ing its burden Of clay to the Great City of the
Dead; and thought, not they only who have
fallen in the battle fields Of Virginia, not they
only who have been stricken down by disease
In camp, or in hospital. but the dead whom we
consign to the narrow limits of the grave from
our households; they who fall from or ranks
daily, and pass on before US; they, the process.
ions to whose funerals we meet in the thorough.
fares Of life, corteges of splendid carriages,
whose hired occupants shed paid.for tears over
the strangers to whose tombs they ride; and
the smaller number Of sincere mourners, who,
in habilliments of sadness, wend their way to
the cemetery Of friends, and the smaller too,
who, with less display and fewer emblems Ct
sorrow, wind sadly to the Potter's field, where
the ashes Of one as poor as themselves are to
be forever laid away from their sight. These
are the dead whose memory is freshest in our
hearts to-night-freshest, because we fail not
to see continual, ever present remembrances
of the recent deceased. The toys of the little
one or the little clothes; the empty crib or the
forsaken wagon, call ever to mind the winning
prattle ard the loving clasp of the baby arms,
and the dimpled cheeks Of rosy freshness that
We but yesterday laid away in the darkness
Middle age leaves its token of former presence; !;
and turn which way we will, the mementoes of
the lost ones lie before US. The favorise
author or the loved piece Of song that was
companion of the now forever absent one, can.
not be seen without the spiritual presence of
that one being evoked from the surrounding
nothingness and void which Death has left as
q heritage to the survivors. Old age totters
into the grave that has stood open for years,
and the tokens Of the departed are thousand
times more numerous and more sacred. The
dead, gone out from every household; quietly
gathered into the silent city; heralded by no
flashing pageant; honored by no unmeaning
parade. We are apt to say. when youth or
middle age, in full vigor, falls, that the stroke
came too soon-the life was only fairly CON-
menced. But who, save He who gave it, shall
say when lfe's purpose is complete7 Not
hours, nor days, but thoughts, words, deeds,
make up life. And why may not these be
crowded-densely crowded-into few months,
or days, yea hours? Then why may not he
who falls amid the raging waves of battle ON
the we'll fought field OF strife, have lived his
days as we'll in briefer time, as he who goes
down ingleriously at the close of three score
years aud ten2


It is not much matter when or how q man
dies, as far as himself is concerned, if it be
only true that he has finished his life.work,
whatever that may have been. Since our days
must shortly end, at best, it were better even
to escape the conflicts Of longer life, in which
we might ignobly fall, and die gloriously in
life's apparent prime. 1t is not because man
dies that sorrow comes like cloud, bu: because
his friends and dependent ones survive him,
remember his virtues and recall him to the
homecircle by the thousand little tokens be
leaves them.


They who rise no longer with US when day
sounds the morning reveille, who gather no
more around the hearth when darkness beats
the evening tattoo, wait only as we wait-yet
more silently, less sinfully-for the grand
awakening reveile Of eternity. They who
bivouac no more with terminates on the march,
who breast no more the stem-tide Of battle
have only finished the conflicts and marches a
few days in advance Of their still struggling
companions, and all shall surely hear, and rise
at the same glorious reveille. But shall this
assurance of faith forever check the "mourn.
ers grief or dry the sad ones tearsT'