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44
OLIVE BUDS.
Gazing earnestly upon the rigid features, he clasped the mangled and bleeding bosom to his own. Even the sternest veteran was moved, at the heart-rending cry of "brother! O my brother"
No one disturbed the bitter grief which the living poured forth in broken sentences over the dead.
"Gone to thine account! Gone to thine everlasting account! Is it indeed thy heart's blood, that trickles warmly upon me? My brother, would that I might have been with thee in thy dreary prison. Would that we might have breathed together one more prayer, that I might have seen thee look unto Jesus of Nazareth."
Rising up from the corpse, and turning