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CHAPTER XXII.
"The mighty conqueror of conquerors—Death!"
But while the common run of ordinary circumstances were going their little round of influence,—small pebbles flung in the great stream of time, whose motion extends not beyond their own narrow eddy,—one of those mighty events was on the wheel of fate which shake the nations with the sound thereof.
The generality of individuals perish and are forgotten before the wild flowers have sprung up in the grass sods that cover them. Their home is desolate for a time, and, perchance, missing their care may force their children to grieve for their loss; perhaps, too, some faithful heart may feel that its life of life has gone from it for ever. But, take the majority of deaths—how little are they felt—how little do they matter! Strange mystery of human existence, that its most awful occurrence
