es who
used that striking language, "Is old Massachusetts dead? It is sweet to
die for our country!" No; it was Lieutenant-Colonel O'Brien, who fell
immediately afterwards. Charles was one of the storming party under
O'Brien. He stepped forward at that call, for they had all hesitated
a moment, as the call was unexpected; it came upon them suddenly. He
behaved as well as if he had fallen; but, thank God, he is preserved
to us, and, is among us in health, in these Thanksgiving days. All
were around my table day before yesterday,--three children, with their
mother, and three grandchildren.

To Mrs. David Lane.

SHEFFIELD, Dec. 29, 1863.

DEAR FRIEND,--Our life goes on as usual, though those drop from it that
made a part of it. We strangely accustom ourselves to everything,--to
war and bloodshed, to sickness and pain, to the death of friends; and
that which was a bitter sorrow at first, sinks into a quiet sadness. And
this not constant, but arising as occasions or trains of thought call
it forth. Life is like a procession, in which heavy footsteps and gay
equipages, and heat and dust, and struggle and laughter, and music and
discord, mingle together. We move on with it all, and our moods partake
of it all, and only the breaking asunder of the natural bonds and
habitudes of living together (except it be of some especial heart-tie)
makes affliction very deep and abiding, or sends us away from the great
throng to sit and weep alone. Of friends, I [267] think I have suffered
more from the loss of the living than of the dead.

I do not know but you will think that all this is very little like me.
It certainly less belongs to the sad occasion that has suggested it than
to any similar one that has ever occurred to me. I shall miss E. S. from
my path more than any friend that has ever gone away from it into the
unknown realm.

Oh! the unknown realm! Will the time ever come, when men will look
into it, or have it, at least, as plainly spread before them as to the
telescopic view is the landscape of the moon? I believe that I have
as much faith in the future life as others,--perhaps more than most
men,--but I am one of those who long for actual vision, who would

"See the Canaan that they love, With unbeclouded eyes."

But now what I have been saying reasserts its claim. The great
procession moves on,--past the solemn bier, past holy graves. You are in
it, and in these days your life is crowded with cares and engagements.
.