present state of weather and roads. . . . I don't think I shall ever murmur or complain again, for even when I am sick I am still more comfortable than you. . . ." "You want me to give you the exact condition of my own health. Well, I have occasional sick spells (they usually occur after battles or periods of more than ordinary concern), but on the whole my health is very good. For a week past I have been subject to a sort of miserable indifference. I think it was the reaction consequent upon a state of intense excitement and solicitude on your account. . . "How did you spend your Christmas yesterday? Meda hung up her stocking and got it full. Ma put in a new red apron, and Nettie put in candy and raisins, and the most perfect little gilt china pitcher you ever saw. She was perfectly carried away with it. When she first saw it she said, 'Now I wish I could show this to Papa.' In the morning I heard some one talking in the dining-room. I looked in and there stood Meda, up in a chair before your likeness, throwing kisses at you and saying, 'I wish a Merry Christmas, Papa dear.' you "The old year, so heavily laden with great events, has gone down into the tomb of the past. It was a mighty swell upon the sea of time, but it is now broken upon the shore. The dark account of the May she past twelve months will form an important feature in our historic record. The twilight which attended the birth of the old year has deepened into black darkness. Aside from our National calamities and sad disasters and reverses to our armies, there are unwritten volumes of misery and anguish, known only to the heart of the stricken sufferer. Think of the ruined households and broken home circles where joy and gladness reigned but one short year ago. "May the New Year be unlike the old. teem with victories of right over wrong, freedom over slavery; may liberal, just, and democratic views (no reference to modern Democracy!) triumph over mercenary and despotic sentiment. Heaven grant that the coming year may not chronicle the date of a ruined Nation! . . . You ask me if I do not love to think of our future home. Oh! Cæsar, if it were not for thoughts of the future I could not endure the present. . . I do not wish to see our country suffer any further dishonor, but if anything like an honorable compromise can be effected I should be in favor of it. . . ." Writing to him while he is still at Seminary Hospital she says: "Don't get well too fast for I am afraid you will have to go back to the regiment. I know you will think this is not very honorable advice, but I cannot help it. .." "My eyes feel unusually bad this evening. Can you guess what ails them? . . . There has been an unusual amount of rascality going on lately. Every paper has its list of robberies,-soldiers especially are victims; so, my dear, you must be on your guard when coming home." "Cæsar, the State of Ohio has gone Democratic,isn't it a burning shame? . . . Oh! my Cæsar, can it be that you must engage in another murderous conflict. I have adopted the plan of living only one day at a time, and find that quite as much as I am adequate to." "I have packed in the valise one can of cherries, one of raspberries, some dried peaches, a few dried cherries, some dried halibut (don't know how to spell it), a little speck of maple sugar, a little piece of cheese, some dried corn, two pair of woollen socks, and a bottle of whiskey. Vess' told me to send it, and I need not caution you to use it judiciously." "You must be very careful what you say against General McClellan. I am afraid you will say more than will be prudent. You know my motive is good in warning you." "I did not sleep much last night, for it was bitter cold. I cannot rest when I know that you must be suffering. . . . You do not know how worried Meda 1 Sylvester Solomon Burrows. is for you. She seems to perfectly realize your condition. Last night, after we got to bed, she commenced laughing very heartily. I asked her what pleased her, and she said, 'I was thinking how glad we would be if my dear Papa would come right into our room now.' I thought so too. . . . I could not live if I thought I never should see you again. . . ." The prayers availed, and the reunion became a reality. The "little home,” so many times referred to, toward which they both had planned, and for which they had toiled and sacrificed, was purchased in Kalamazoo in November, 1863. But even the joy of realization was not enough to give back to the frail body what the constant strain had taken from it, and in August of the following year Jennie passed away to that rich reward which belongs to those who unhesitatingly give of themselves to those they love: 66 "Mid the flower-wreathed tombs I stand, Comrades! in what soldier grave "One low grave, the trees beneath, |