ross the plain.

The fires of the bivouac still burned, but all slept around them. Not a
sound was heard save the tramp of a patrol or the short, quick cry of
the sentry. I sat lost in meditation, or rather in that state of dreamy
thoughtfulness in which the past and present are combined, and the absent
are alike before us as are the things we look upon.

One moment I felt as though I were describing to my uncle the battle of the
day before, pointing out where we stood, and how we charged; then again
I was at home, beside the broad, bleak Shannon, and the brown hills of
Scariff. I watched with beating heart the tall Sierra, where our path lay
for the future, and then turned my thoughts to him whose name was so soon
to be received in England with a nation's pride and gratitude, and panted
for a soldier's glory.

As thus I followed every rising fancy, I heard a step approach; it was a
figure muffled in a cavalry cloak, which I soon perceived to be Power.

"Charley!" said he, in a half-whisper, "get up and come with me. You are
aware of the general order, that while in pursuit of an enemy, all military
honors to the dead are forbidden; but we wish to place our poor comrade in
the earth before we leave."

I followed down a little path, through a grave of tall beech-trees, that
opened upon a little grassy terrace beside the river. A stunted olive-tree
stood by itself in the midst, and there I found five of our brother
officers standing, wrapped in their wide cloaks. As we pressed each other's
hands, not a word was spoken. Each heart was full; and hard features that
never quailed before the foe were now shaken with the convulsive spasm of
agony or compressed with stern determination to seem calm.

A cavalry helmet and a large blue cloak lay upon the grass. The narrow
grave was already dug beside it; and in the deathlike stillness around, the
service for the dead was read. The last words were over. We stooped and
placed the corpse, wrapped up in the broad mantle, in the earth; we
replaced the mould, and stood silently around the spot. The trumpet of our
regiment at this moment sounded the call; its clear notes rang sharply
through the thin air,--it was the soldier's requiem! and we turned away
without speaking, and returned to our quarters.

I had never known poor Hixley till a day or two before; but, somehow, my
grief for him was deep and heartfelt. It was not that his frank and manly
bearing, his bold and military air,