the coming death, and how true thousands of premonitions proved to be.
Many a one at home waited with high hope the sure return of the soldier from the wars, knowing that somehow—God only knew how—the dear one should escape the bullet and bayonet, while to others the farewell was the last on earth.
A noble band of men had gone—they were all noble, as regiment after regiment joined the veteran corps; heroic blood fired the hearts in every rank, while coward fear drove some wild with its desperation. It is folly for men to stand now, afar from the scenes enacted on those Southern battle-fields, and tell of regiment or corps the "Grandest that ever faced a foe."
All were grand; all were heroic; the blood of mortal men beat in their hearts; situations, and opportunities may have given some the precedence over others, but the same enthusiasm fired all the ranks, given the same time, and place, with; a master spirit to lead, and no one corps or regiment went beyond what it what it was possible for all to do.
Many a one rose to be a hero, who, if the war of the rebellion had never cursed us, would have remained as common place at home as the humblest day laborer who eats his bread by the sweat of his brow; the heroism was in the occasion, and the man's heart; met it without quailing, and forthwith became a hero.
When I went to camp to see the regiment before starting, we had twenty-six sick men in the wards of
