blame. It lives in the
memory of the poor old Rebel soldier who went through that trying and
terrible ordeal. We shed a tear for the dead. They are buried and
forgotten. We meet no more on earth. But up yonder, beyond the sunset
and the night, away beyond the clouds and tempest, away beyond the stars
that ever twinkle and shine in the blue vault above us, away yonder by
the great white throne, and by the river of life, where the Almighty
and Eternal God sits, surrounded by the angels and archangels and the
redeemed of earth, we will meet again and see those noble and brave
spirits who gave up their lives for their country's cause that night
at Franklin, Tennessee. A life given for one's country is never lost.
It blooms again beyond the grave in a land of beauty and of love.
Hanging around the throne of sapphire and gold, a rich garland awaits the
coming of him who died for his country, and when the horologe of time has
struck its last note upon his dying brow, Justice hands the record of
life to Mercy, and Mercy pleads with Jesus, and God, for his sake,
receives him in his eternal home beyond the skies at last and forever.

NASHVILLE

A few more scenes, my dear friends, and we close these memoirs. We march
toward the city of Nashville. We camp the first night at Brentwood.
The next day we can see the fine old building of solid granite, looming
up on Capitol Hill--the capitol of Tennessee. We can see the Stars and
Stripes flying from the dome. Our pulse leaps with pride when we see the
grand old architecture. We can hear the bugle call, and the playing of
the bands of the different regiments in the Federal lines. Now and then
a shell is thrown into our midst from Fort Negley, but no attack or
demonstrations on either side. We bivouac on the cold and hard-frozen
ground, and when we walk about, the echo of our footsteps sound like the
echo of a tombstone. The earth is crusted with snow, and the wind from
the northwest is piercing our very bones. We can see our ragged soldiers,
with sunken cheeks and famine-glistening eyes. Where were our generals?
Alas! there were none. Not one single general out of Cheatham's division
was left--not one. General B. F. Cheatham himself was the only surviving
general of his old division. Nearly all our captains and colonels were
gone. Companies mingled with companies, regiments with regiments,
and brigades with brigades. A few raw-boned horses stood shivering under
th