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Leaves From My Journal

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The battle ia over, the hei'ce conflict endeJ, and night, silence, and brood over the field tthich a few, short hours ago swarmed with countless hosts, nnd resounded with he roar of Oftnnon and the clushing of ravonete, blendtjd witli the shriuks of' he woimded and dying. Oh ! tliat bluody battle field, that cene of earndge ind desolation ! It ïaunls me by day and night, - ray vaking and wleeping dreams; and as sit her with my iier.d bowed upon ny clasped hands, endeavoring to shut ut the awiul siih t , and uheat my leart into tVfe beliel l'iat it all is but sorne dread phantasy of an overwrought moginBtion, it but looms up beforo me the more vividly still. The pale moon uhieh is now smiling Bocalmly upon me, sStifios, ahto, upon that batile field ; and the bright stars ïoid their holy virgils there as heru. - Phose eold nioonbeams- how mockn;ly the raja bathe the glory field vitn its heaps of lam, r.nd the ghastly ïpturned faces oí tho dead. Methjnks he exprespion of tho pale, dead faoes, s a type of tbeir last thougbta and words. A calm severity pervadea the countcnanee of ooe, as if his last words vere, " Motlier, Jlotne, Heoven." - Lnotbet; hat his hand clenched iiercely, and on every lineament is plainly tamped the patriot's words, " My 'oun'.ry and my God," and on the ale, resolved brow of the tlecper by lis tide is written, "Victory or Death." A look of sadness overshadows the oyons face of one, as if hu found it laid to die and giie up that world ia vhich, pcrchance, he had fouod naught ave happiness. Another has his lipa ïalf parted, as if with his latest breath ie ualled upon the benig hts loved best n earth,- " Mother, Oh, Mother" - Mtlieving the strong love she boro íor lim would revive his failing energics and fan the flickcling fires of Jife into a ñame once more. What a bright, happy look one yonng face wear-', his arms thrown carelessly abovö his head, like a tired chüd lying down to rest, and a smila liovering around his lips, as if hjs dreams were very pleasant. Alas, they il] know no av akening. The neus of the " great battle" has spread far and nuar with liglitüing epeed, and vvho, save thee who experienc3 it, can imagine the daikness of the pall whicb to-night enshrouds so many heartd and homes in our once peaceful land ? Iïow many, to-night, are on their bended knees, wrestling in prayer to God to have mercy upon their lovcd ones, longing wildly though vainly to hear sonie tidings of the ab sent, and suffering all the borrorB of that suspense whicii '' maketh the heart sick even unto dea tb. n What sighs and and moans of angnish break ujion the startled air, f uil of gj'ief too deep f'or teare. Woman, patiënt, loving, self-eacrificing woman, her's is the hcaviest burden ; her's is the rarikling wound tbat oever beals; pangs bharper tbau a two edgtd eword pierce her bosom. She lindejthe heart can "break and brokenly live on." God help the mothers, daughlers, and vvives who have just received ttie "latest war nt'ws " confirrning their worst fears.-Listen to a mol her 'e mournful wniling; My boy! my boy! my bravo and galia.,1 boy, my only son, the pride ajul durlingol my lite, dead ! Tiiat noble young head ho nften pillovred upon 1113' bosom, now on resting the gory battlefield ; thoso bright golden curls dab bied and stiff with blood; the long, d.ark lajies never more to be üfted by will of the sleeper, sweeping his pale chteks? Ah! the light of tho vliole world has died out for me; how thuse dear eyes, wliich over beatned with 'ovo, are close d, - those cliisieled lipa that I would gTadly die to presa to mine onoe more ! What name lingered there last, dying away with tho latest breath ? Whose should it be but mine, his molherV? No otber uve ever etepped between us, mine in Jife, mine in cleath! thank God, all mina. Pead ! Will the sun shino on tbc jnorrow, the birds siiig, and theflowers bloorn as on yestcrdiiy 'Í Will 1 ncver more har my duriing's footstop cross the home thieshold ! his merry voico linging out, making music iill around ? i They teil me he was not afraid to die. my gallant boy, who never feored ought save doing wrong? That he fought bravely, and to the last his slight figure couldbe seen in iho thuïltest of the fight, - wtiere was the most ■djinger there was he fonnd, and the} appval to my pride to stiffle my wild grief and tliiuk ot one who soöght 110 feighër honor than to die for bis country, - that be was buried with military honors, and h;s name inscribed upon the scroll of lame, Oh ! how litile they know the human heart, -i-a molher's heart. What has it to do with pride hen its best alFcctions are concerned? Pageantry pomp, and farne ! What are they 10 roe? Can they givo me back my boy or soothe my ncbing lieart? Wht is glcirv lo m-v P'' I '" g}ry - "ie Poor fteeting honorsof tiiip world ? 'Tis said he filis an honorecl soldier' giave. Oh, rather give him back tn me, and let hini bu bu lied in tho oíd graveyard at dome, where I inay weep and pray over Iris grave. Hethinka 'twonld oool niy burning brow to roet it upon the 8od" tluit covers his dear dend hoart They say many are bowed with sorrow, this day as I. They do bit jest, - dkl ever inother love like me? Was evcry boy like mine? The country liad its tbouéauds I had but one- liould it not have epared hirn to me. 'Tis aid, Uh, God! that Thuii art iull of inurcy and loving kindness, but I feel only thy heavy rod. Why is this bitter cup preseflted to me? Why this burcjen heavier tlian I can beur ? Why 'í And I atn tulkiog wildly, saorilegiously ? I know not; I ooly feel and know that my boy is gone, forevor gone. ' Oh, Fatber deal gently witb a tnother's broken heari ; íet me not queslion the wisdom of thy decrees teuch my rtíbelious lips lo murmur, " Thy will be done" and day and night will I bow beí'ore ihy footstool, praying over práying, that my boy and I may meet again. and sil down together upon the bank of the riverol life, vvhioli traketh glad the 'city of our God.' Oh, younj?, betrothed tnniden, thy sllght form drooping with its ueifjlit of vvoe, in the shadowy deptb of thy dnrk eyet", burdened with unsliod tears, can be read a tale of anguish that can nev er p88 away; and thy Binall, pale hands, preesed upor. thy hearl, which is slowly breaking for tfie noble, true and brave, who, loving" thoe loved his country more, and shid his best blood n its delensa. Terrible, indeed, is thy first reaijzation ol sorrpw and death. How sadly to-night the wife gathors her h tile flock round hor, longing y et dreading to hear the worst. '' Oh ! pale, pale f ce ! Oh ! helplesa hrir.ils ; Swi 61 eyes by truith-s watching wiongsd, Te' turoiag ever toward land Where var 's red host.suro tiirunsed. She scf'a no conqai rin Sag unfarled, she heara no victurys brazen' rour, Bat a fleaf (aee which hbr ""oi ld, l'trchunct', sbe'll no man. Testerday, they s.'-y, a fiel 1 wm won,- cr('á asli tidiDgS cl' the íi!:t Uut ulUjer of the dead aluoe, Who lay oat in th4 nigbt. In mètcy teil herihat hls nanio Was nut ip n the fatal 1:, That nitt an?ong i!ü heaj - "!' slalQ lJumb are the Ups bhe's L:sscd.:' In the present grcat national crifi?, mr WomeD should teach themseives ho bitter losson of life, " to suÖer and he strong." Even now, many are the Spartan mothers of our laud who, with úntrembling hand, buckle on the Mvords of their eoni, and, without a tear or sigh, exclaim, " I havo given iiini to his country, tlie Gud ut heaven defend him !" My heárt is f uil of deep sadness, and my tears f. II like rain, when 1 thii.k ot one who " went forth i'roin aniong us to fight, bleed and die, if need be, for his native land. Noble, true, and brave, '' none kuew him but to luve, none nanied him but to praise." But he too perished in the "good cause." Were the green laurels which thou bndst already won, too heavy for the young bruw around which they were entwined ] With ''Excelsior" forever on tljy li[, and burtiing in thy heart, did it not 3ause thee a 'pang to enter lilto the ''valley nf shadows" - cut ofl in all the promisiug bnghtness ot thy young manhood, with tjiö great untried field of Life spread out before thee, in which thou thought to occomphsh so much; didst not thy whole soul go forth o the prayer-"Spare me, greaf Gol, lift up my drooping brow ; I am cunteut tu die, but üü, uotuoff." Who bent abovo thpe whispering, "Let me kiss him for hia molher?" - Far from honie and íriends he d'ed and found a lonely grave among stranger?; but such as he need no epitaph to mark his rusting place, for his name is ongraved upon the scroll of faifle, and enshrined in loving bearts. Parkiy and heavjly will the shadows gather around bid home, without the light of hie presence and loyed ones will vveep bitter tears, for he wiü come no inore, 'l'ho night is tast waning and the stars are fuding from the sky; soon ali Mature will awate to Ijle, and light and joy, but mocking the terrorstricken eaftli. In our bjindness and short sigMedness, wo cali out. '; Who is eutjicient for these things i" 'Let us bow rneekly, knowing that it will all be revealed in llis good time.


Old News
Michigan Argus