And the sternest there bent weeping,
O'er that lonely sleeper sleeping.

'Twas the midnight-stars shone 'round him-In a shroud of glory bound him ;

And they told us how they found him.

Where the bravest love to fall.

Where the woods, like banners bending,
Drooped in glory and in gloom---
There, when that sad night was ending,
And the faint, fair dawn was blending
With the stars now fast descending-
There they mute and mournful bore him-
With the stars and shadows o'er him—
There they laid him down, so tender,
And the next day's sun and splendor
Flashed upon my brother's tomb!

The Land of Memories.

REV. A. J. RYAN.

A land without ruins is a land without memories-a land without memories is a land without liberty. A land that wears a laurel crown may be fair to see, but twine a few sad cypress leaves around the brow of any land, and be that land beautiless and bleak, it becomes lovely in its consecrated coronet of sorrow and it wins the sympathy of the heart and history. Crowns of roses fade, -crowns o thorns endure. Calvaries and crucifixes take deepest hold of humanity-the triumphs of might are transient, they pass away and are forgotten-the sufferings of right are graven deepest on the chronicles of nations.

YES! give me a land where the ruins are spread,
And the living tread light on the hearts of the dead;
Yes, give me a land that is blest by the dust,
And bright with the deeds of the down-trodden just.
Yes, give me the land where the battle's red blast
Has flashed on the future the form of the past;
Yes, give me the land that hath legend and lays
That tell of the memories of long vanished days;
Yes, give me a land that hath story and song,
To tell of the strife of the right with the wrong;
Yes, give me the land with a grave in each spot,
And names in the graves that shall not be forgot:
Yes, give me the land of the wreck and the tomb,
There's a grandeur in graves—there's a glory in gloom—
For out of the gloom future brightness is born,
As after the night looms the sunrise of morn;
And the graves of the dead, with the grass overgrown,
May yet form the footstool of liberty's throne,
And each single wreck in the war-path of might,
Shall yet be a rock in the temple of Right.

NEW YORK FREEMAN'S JOURNAL.

THE END.

BARRICK, JAMES R.

BELL, MAURICE......

BELL, WALKER MERRIWETHER.

BLUNT, ELLEN KEY..

BOWEN, JAMES L..

BRENNAN, JOSEPH..
BROCK, SALLIE A..
BRUNS, J. DICKSON.
BRYAN, MARY E..
BUCKNER, S. B...

BURROUGHS, ALETHEA S.
BURROUGHS, MRS. L.
BURTON, JULIETTE T.
CAMERON, FRANCIS S.
CLARKE, MARY BAYARD.
COOKE, JOHN ESTIN.
CROSS, JANE T........

DAVIES, SAMUEL M..
DIMITRY, CHARLES..

DINNIES, ANNA PEYERE.
DOWNING, FANNY....