was crushed, her mother's heart was broken, and those who knew
her well say, although she lived many years, that she never smiled
again. Her father wrote immediately to Lieutenant Montgomery,
imploring him to come to him and be to him as an own son, feeling this
to be the only reparation he could make to him and his poor, murdered
child. This offer was, of course, rejected, for how could the
heartbroken husband consent to live in the home from which his dear
wife had been turned in anger away.

Her parents felt that they deserved this, but wrote again begging the
body of their daughter, that it might repose among her own kindred and
not among a savage people. To this he consented, although he could not
be prevailed on to come himself to Cincinnati, and accordingly, early
in the spring, the remains of the once lovely and idolized Lizzie
Taylor were brought to her father's house.

Her false-hearted summer friends could now weep for her as the
daughter of the rich Griffin Taylor, while they would scarcely have
regretted her as simply the wife of a poor soldier. Alas! for the
hollow friendship of the world! Had one-half the sympathy been
bestowed upon the poor child when she was turned from her father's
door, an outcast, as was lavished on her poor, unconscious body when
lying in that father's house a corpse, how much she would have been
cheered and comforted under her sore trial. Everything possible was
done to make it a splendid funeral--a rosewood coffin and velvet pall,
crape streamers and funereal plumes, an elegant hearse, and an almost
unending line of carriages--pitiable, senseless pride, that would cast
away as worthless the priceless jewel, and bestow tender care and
pompous honor on the perishable casket that once held it!

Nearly fifty years have passed into history since that mild spring
day, when the long procession passed through the streets of
Cincinnati, telling in its mournful march of wounded pride, blighted
hopes, broken hearts, and agony unspeakable. And yet so indelibly is
it fixed in my memory that it seems but yesterday, and I find it hard
to realize that the young, gallant officer for whom our hearts were
sore that day, is now an old man, with white hair, still in the
service of the country he has faithfully served through all these
years, holding high rank, and honored, respected and beloved by all
who know him. The father, mother, sister, and very many of the nearest
relatives and friends of th