Year: 1877

the wild look of the anxious eve
speaks in unmistakable language of
the dreadful years of suspense which
followed him who went to the war
and has not yet returned. Every in
cident of the parting scene has been
sacredly cherished and vivedly re-
membercd. How often in her imaci-
ination, she sees him bidding his last
farewell. He stoops to kiss his first
born. She watches the unbidden
tear drop that steals down his manly
cheek. She hears the words, which
the child can scarcely comprehend,
''be mothers boy till papa comes
home" She sees again the company
of bright-faced comrades; she listens
to the music of the fife and drum; she
watches them file around the hill, and
amid the futter of many handker-
chiefs, she recognizes has waving its
fatal farewell as it passes out of her
sight forever. He goes to battle for
his country, and the memory of those
loved ones strengthenes his arm for
heroic deeds. By the campfire he
sleeps and dreams of them. On
the sentry's beat, at midnight hour in
Dlxie's land, his thoughts turn toward
home. The fatigue of the dreary
march through swamp and cane
break is lightened by the memory of
wife and babes. Past the cypress
knees and acrosss the swollen streams,
the army pushes its way toward the
Gulf or the sea. ''The cruel war is
almost over.'' The glad message
goes back to cheer the anxious hearts
that watch and wait in their lonely
home. Alas. it can never be. One
more terrible battle, one more fearful
slaughter, and the father and husband
lays down that precious life upon the
altar of the country he loved so we'll;
and then the enemy sweeps down
upon our line, a very avalanche OF
fire and smoke. In the hasty retreat
Il thoughtful comrade stoops to cary
away to the living, memento frou
the dead. The sad message comes
at last to smite the hopeful wife; and then
the light of her eye and the JOY OF her heart
go out forever The children now have only
a confused recollection of something which
impressed their young hearts a crushing
caiamity. They only remember now a weep
ing mother. crumpled letter, perchance "A
picture and blood-stained lock OF hair-this
is all they recollect of the father who went to
the war long years ago. Can it be that this
is the only legacy lerr by the hoy in blue"
who was buried III the soldiers ditch meath
the shade OF the holly and amid the fragrance
of the magnohay No, 1t cannot be: Ioshe
leaves to that widow and those orphans that
which the gold OF Ophlr could never buy
the legacy of name that will hive forever
Gathered with his comrades by grateful ma
ton, hls remains are carried al last TO the
nearest national cemetery Tor final interment.
There above hIm, at the head OF the mound
has been planted a board. Upon 1t is writ
ten an epItah. 1t consists of only one signif-
icant word unknown" Yet 1t is an epi.
taph eloquent in Its simplicity, and dear to
us all, because 1T is the honored epitaph of
thousands OF noble patriots OF the
American Union. Yes, daughter, to you,
he was indeed unknown. tie went forth
when you knew him not, and died for his
country when your infant heart was vet a
stranger to grief; but let the memory of his
heroism be with you always; for he loved
not YOU the less, but his country more
Yes, boy, that father who sleeps in an un-
grown grave lies there that the nation NAV
nve. Well may your young heart swell with
pride as you listen to the veteran who has re-
turned to tell OF battles fought and victories
won. Well may your eye kindle with en-
thusiasm as he recounts the deeds of valor
nobly done. Well may you feel a patriotic
thrill on day like this Well may you re-
joice with us In the reign OF peace and the
preservation of the republic That father
contributed to all these happy results. He
has transmitted TO you and to us q holy and
important trust May the memory Of his
lite and the glory of hs death, be with you
through life as your light and your shield.
reminding you that although he was 'un-
known" to strangers, and almost unknown"
to YOU, yet he is not unknown" to his
country, nor yet to fame. The simple epi-
taph that MARKS his grave is the epitaph Of .
hero, which to you Is worth more than the
most expensive monument of marble or Of
granite. May you ever be true to his exam
pie, proud OF his memory and worthy of his
good name.


His voice grew faint and hoarscr-his grasp
was childish weak,


His eyes put ON a dying look, he sighsd


and ceased to speak:


His comr~de bent to lift him, but the spark


Of life had fed


The soldier Of the Union, in the Sunny
South, was dead.


And the soft moon rose up slowly, and


calmly she looked down


On the red sand Of the battlefield, With
bloody corpscs strown;


Yea calmly ON that drcadful scene - un1o