Year: 1863

black, and wildly calling for those VIII


can never reply. For the whole land


one universal Rama, and the figure {


Rachel but family fills upT The picture I


which all of death and desolation tha


the grave could furnish were but the &C


compartments of truth. Homes enougl


to make the Desert of Sahara blossom
have been made desolate, and the ligh
of life in nearly million Of true heart
quenched forever. All OF this desola
ton and dearth, imagination must pain
broken hearts cannot be photographed
Parhassius could not painta dying groan
nor can the sun put upon canvas ;
widows wall, or the orphans cry fol
bread. 4a i2i0a 20" ''s h|
These pictures have a terrible distinct
ness and minuteness. AS have before
remarked, with the aid Of a magnifying
glass, the very features OF the slain may
be distinguished. One picture repre-.
sents burying party at its sad work-a
shallow grave they dig. would scarce.
lY choose to be in the gallery when one
Of the women bending over this scene
should recognize husband, brother,
a son. or a lover in one OF the still, life
less lines Of bodies that lie ready for the
gaping trenches. For these trenches
must have a terror for woman's heart
that goes far to outweigh all the others
that hover over and around the battle
field. The trench is scarce deep enough
to hide the body, and into it the bodies
are flung with neither ritual read nor
requiem sung, nor even the hastily NUT
tered prayer Of priest. How can a
mother bear to know that the boy whose
slumbers she has Graded, whose head
her bosom pillowed until the rolling
drum called him forth to die-whose
poor dropping head. could she reach it.
should find the same pillow again
whose corpse should be strewn with the
rarest and brightest flowers that Spring
brings, or Summer leaves when. for
the privilege Of touching that corpse,
which the soldier who stands by it handles
with loathing. Of kissing once more the
lips 80 white and cold, OF smoothing back
the curling yellow hair from that brow
and cleansing it of blood stains, she
would give all the remaining years of
life allotted her by Heaven--how can
this mother bear to know that in a shall.
low trench, hastily dug, rude hands
have thrown him 4? She would have
handled the poor corpse so tenderly.
have priced the boon Of caring for it so
dearly-yet even the imperative Office
of hiding the dead from sight has been
done by those who thought it trouble,
and were only glad when their work end
ed.


Have heart poor mother grieve not
without hope, mourn not without conso.
lalion. This is not the last Of your boy.
With pealing oftrumpets and beating of drums,
These trenches shall open-the triumph day


comes.


And then for him is reserved that crown
which only heroes and martyrs are per.
miited to wears crown which passes
immortelles, brighter than bays, green.
er and more lasting than laurel. =


War is terrible thing, even when we
drive its wheels against the seried ranks
of an invading foe. and when with those
wheels we plow our own streets and
crush down those whom yesterday We
greeted as brothers, It's horrors so multi
ply that one can neither tell nor coun
them. Still, fresh from the studio Of III.
sun where all these terrors and horror.
are blazoned with the full force ola pen
ell whose every color is truth, l canno
say that much regret it. For. though
a terrible alternative, it is still an alter
native. and provides an appeal from ,
shame aud submiss ion which were wors,
than death.