Year: 1864

It was on a Sabbath morning, the last in
October, the blackbirds and the blue, who
had left you at the approach of winter to
gladden. them in the Southern sun, were
chattering in the groves, while the queen OF
song, the mocking- bird, sat off alone, as
though conscious Of her regal title, while the
little throat was tremulous with melody. On
Saturday it had rained, and this morning was
as fresh as one Of June's sweetest. l was
strolling along after breakfast, when met a
friend who asked me il 1 would go with him
to funeral. Now, have dread of func-
rals-not Of death, not Of the grave, but Of
the funeral. They are to me horrible things.
Fashion, which regulates even the cut Of a
cleroyman's coat, the form of his prayer,
must step in here and regulate all save the
manner OF ones dying. l said they were
horrible-that is the word-sO offensive to
taste, to art, to all that is high in sensitive,
impressionable natures.


First, strangers, who feel no interest In the
sleeper, criticise his dress and cerementsi
then the eart-broken mourners, the stricken
ones, are paraded before the spectators; poor
hearts torp asunder, grief unuttera6ie, IS
shown to strangers; then the cherries ana
lonely ride to his last resting-place, perhaps
miles away, is to be suffered at the grave
the mourners are again made to show the



wrong; it is in bad taste, to say nothing OF
its inhumanity. None of this grief should
be seen except by those who are in bonds
of love with those who weep. Let the fare
well be taken before the multitude come.


asked, "Who is dead 7" and this was his
story:


"a wife, who dweIls in the West, beyond
the lakes, whose husband is an officer in the
army, had not heard from him for some
weeks. Two small boys were with him, their
only ones. While she sat at home, reading
a paper, her eyes fell upon a notice of the
death Of her husband.


" All the tenderness of woman's love, all
the strength of wife's devotion, nerved her
to start Immediately for her children, and
clasp them to a widowed heart. Day after
day passed-how slowly, let a mother tell
how tedious let a widow speak who knows
her idol broken in distant land. Two weeks
were past ere she reached Vicksburg. Three
days on a sand-bar! What torture At
last she reached the hoped-for city. AS the
boat neared the wharf, she saw her two boys
upon ponies, and beside them the father and
husband. One long, piercing cry OF joy filled
the air, the husband few, rather than ran,
and took the lifeless form in his arms. 1t
was too much of joy for heart o'ercharged
with grief. The strings snapped, and reason
tottered for time, to fall, in two days, to the
sleep of death. This is the funeral would
have you attend"


This was his story. / went.


The assemblage was small - only five
wonderland they not dwellers here-sojourn-
ers Gay uniforms filed the room; the birds
sang so sweetly the sun shone so brightly,
and the fragrance of the rose and honeysuckle
swept through the window over the face Of
the sleeper, TO kiss the cheeks Of the living.
The old chaplain with silver hair, and almost
the aureola Of the crown that is laid up,
might be seen upon his brow, arose and read
that sweetest Of all poetry:


~ would not live always, ask NOT to stay,
Where storm after storm rises dark DER the way.
The few lurid mornings that dawn on US here,
Are followed by gloom or beclouded with fear"


After request that some one would start
the hymn, and deep silence, one who was
a sinner, and stood in a corner, as though he
would get away from the throng, began tbs
melody in tremulous voice, to which all the
rest added theirs, until the anthem filled the
room and mingled with the fragrance oSthe
flowers.


The stricken one was unfit to leave his
bed, but the two motherless boys stood
among Us, unconscious of their greatest of
all losses-a mothers tender care. Then
prayer, to which the aged teacher, with tear
full eyes and trembling voice, implored the
Giver of all Good to give us peace, to take
from us the vices that follow war and give us
the blessings that follow peace. His prayer
was beautiful.


The solemn and true words, "Man that is
born of woman, is Of few days and is full Of
trouble. He cometh forth as flower and
is cut down he feeth as shadow and con-
tinueth not. For what is life }? 1t is even as
yapor. Man walketh in vain shadow
= = he heapeth up riches and
cannot tell who shall gather them. |


All were strangers. No resident Of the
place was there to honor one who gave evil
dence of those qualities which make the name
of Mary more sacred and Ruth a sweet house
hold word-that make Hannah word Of
| music to obedient sons, and the Jewish
mother with her slain sons in the lonely
watch day after day, that fowls might not
tear them, and night after night that the
beasts might not feed upon them, one OF the
saddest pictures Of human love.


In silence, carriage after carriage left the
door for the grave, until all save me and
few contrabands were left alone on the lawn
where the sun shone so brightly and the birds
sang so sweetly, in the perfume that swept
from the flowers. Correspondence Cincinnati
Gazette.