for the dead," and "good byes" are said in the beautiful Forest city, as each departed for their homes to assume the peaceful avocations of four years before.
Gradually they have drifted away—some to a quiet nook in the country church yard, and others to the east, west, and south, until now they may be found in nearly every State and Territory in this vast Union. Annually they come together in re-union at some convenient point in Puritan Western Reserve, and
"Fight their battles o'er again."
Each year a committee is appointed whose duty it is to draft resolutions of condolence to the memory of the comrades whose "final statements" have been called for since the last meeting, and this committee always have something to do. Each yearly roll call is shorter than its predecessor, and it does not require a long look into the future to find only the roll—no one to call it, and none to answer to their names if called.
Absent "comrades, gone before us
In the 'great review' to pass—
Never more to earthly chieftain
Dipping colors as ye pass—
Heaven accord ye gentle judgment
As before the throne ye pass."
While almost within gun shot of the site of the canvass covered field of 1861, busily engaged in well nigh vain endeavors to retain his grip upon the "ragged edge" of a somewhat precarious existence, and but a few laps in advance of the grim gentleman with the hour glass and scythe, abides
The Drummer Boy(?) of Company B.
