The Boy Who Never Got Home

The following tender and touching tribute to the soldiers who never returned f rom the war, was writtt-n by Geo. W. Peck of the National Tribune, in the form of a letter of regret at being unable to attend a "camp fire" of a Grand Army post at Janesviile, Wis.: "I don't know what it is, but there is something in beans that makes men sociable and reckless. Beware of beans, Torn, as you value your future happinesg. Look not upon the bea8 when it is baked and giveth its color in the pan, for at last it swelleth like an accordeon, aní biteth like a cucumber. But I would lise to be there, Thomas, and take the old soldiers by the hand, and look into the eyes tbat are becoming dim, and notice the effect of Father Time's pencilings on the faces of the boys, who twenty years ago were as f uil of vitaiity and as kitteny as any man that ever kept step to the rattling of a canteen against a eartridge-box. Boys, do you realize that you are growing old ? It is hard to realize it, but if another war were to break out, your little baby that you left in its mother's arms twenty yean ago, crowing at the "hand-me-down' blue uniform ir, which you were disguised, would be the chap the govern ment would want. Boys, you are rap idly becoming "old back numbers;' though you feel young enough to stub around home, you are "exempt" now Do you realize that the little baby gir that clung to you as you said good-by twenty years ago, with tears in your eyes as big as a glass paper weight, oían editor's diamond pin, is now a woman, married, and tbat inother baby is trying to utter the word "grandpa," when you come in putting on yonr youthful airs? It is pleasant now to chase the festive beari around the home camp flie and talk of the nights when you slept on the ground in a pup tent, or on some battle-üeld, with your wet and muddy pantaloons kgs f rozen as stiff as a dried codf ish, whilo you dreamed that every star that was looking down f rom above was the eye of a dear one at home beckoning you to "Hold tbe Fort, and hurry up and get through with the confoanded foolishness and come home. You can laugh now as yoii think how you got up in the morning after sucli a night's rest, looking as though you had been drawn through a brush fence, and swearing because the nigger was af raid, to come up with the camp kettle of coffee. You who are left have a right to be happy, but in the midst of your bean banquet let me ask you to stand up with your tin cup of black coffee, and drink to "The boys who never got home," the brave ïellows who returned not to meet the lovedxmes they parted with twenty years ago. Let us hope that the great congress above "removed the disabilities" of the boys wholeftvacancies in their regiments, and that the few chickens thtsy took in the way of business from the enemy will not be entered up ügainst them on the Big Book but that the Provost Guard on duty at the gates of the "New Jerusalem" will "present arms" to them and teil the boys that they are welcome to the best there is, and that when we all get in our work here, and are ready to join our regiment in heaven, that the fellows that we buried years ago may stand on the parapet as we come straggling in, and give us the old soldiers' welcome with a "three times three" with a tiger. And we shall say to them, "all right, comrades, we should have been here before, only we were detained by business.