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treatment with the others. On the bloody field of Moskwa, Napoleon, as he stooped over the Russian wounded and ordered relief, said, "After battle we are no longer enemies."

We asked one of the medical men, a personal friend, Dr. George Mendenhall, President of the Sanitary Commission, who had come up the river with them from Donaldson, if he had, while ministering to their wounds, talked with them. "No," said that good man, "I felt so indignant when I reflected what a miserable business they had been engaged in that I had no stomach for social intercourse." Personally, we think it instructive to get at the bottom thought of all sorts of people in religion, business, politics and war-and even in wedlock, which, alas, often results in the same. It often teaches charity for what is wrongdoing. In a deserted rebel camp, Laurel Hill, Western Virginia, was found “a love letter,"in which was expressed the bottom thought of at least one poor secessionist: "I sa agen, dear Melindy, weer fitin for our libertis to do gest as we pleas, and we will fit for them so long as GODDLEMITY gives us breth."

The hospitals were sacred places to the ladies of the city who were alive in. ministering to the wants of the soldier boys; and to the latter they seemed angelic. One very great occupation was writing letters at the dictation of the suffering and often dying soldiers to their loved ones at home. A melanchol yduty, but purifying and ennobling, as they often found among the most humble of these men the choicest of spirits, the most noble of natures, and could but feel as they saw them sinking away into their last sleep, it would be to awake again in ethereal brightness to be appreciated in the higher immortality.

The

A Soldier's Funeral awakens different emotions from that of any other. If he be an officer high in rank no pageant can be so affecting as the funeral procession. Cincinnati had several such. One was that of General Wm. H. Lytle, the poet soldier killed at Chickamauga, and was most imposing. The entire city seemed anxious to pay their last tribute to the illustrious dead. The houses were draped in mourning, the bells tolled, and the flags hung at half-mast. procession passed through Fourth street, a long line of military with reversed arms moved slowly and solemnly along, the band playing a dirge. The horse of the General, according to military custom, was led by a military servant, with a pair of cavalry boots hanging from the empty saddle. On each side of the sarcophagus marched a guard of honor, officers high in rank and attired in their full parade uniforms; tall, showy, splendid-looking men. It was evening ere they reached Spring Grove, the moon silvering that repository of the dead as they entered its imposing gateway.

Regiments Returning from service in the field often looked war-worn and in ragged condition. After the Union defeat at Rich mond we saw two Indiana regiments which had surrendered and the men then paroled, marching through Third street, en route for Indianapolis. They had left that city only a few weeks before, newly formed troops, and had passed through ours for Kentucky, in high spirits and excellent condition. On their return they were in a deplorable state, ragged, dirty with the dust of the roads, and many of them bare-footed. The enemy must have largely robbed them of their clothing and shoes. The city at the time was destitute

of troops; but few persons were on the street to look upon this sad, forlorn, woe-begonelooking body of young men. Kirby Smith had taken out their starch. We felt they ought to have been received with open arms, but no one was around to help brighten their spirits. The few who saw them gazed in staring silence. Another dilapidated-looking body we saw, and in 1864, was the Fifth Ohio. After three years of bloody and heroic service they had been reduced to little more than a company and were drawn up in line on Third street before the Quarter-master's department to draw new clothing. It was quite a contrast to that same regiment as we saw it just after the fall of Sumter marching down Sycamore street 1,000 strong, attired in red-flannel shirts and aglow with patriotic ardor. Their brave Colonel, J. H. Patrick, had been killed only a few weeks before down in Dalton, Georgia, while gallantly leading a charge. The heroic band were home on furlough.

The Sixth, or Guthrie Gray Regiment, marched away in gray and came back in the army blue after an absence of three years, when they were mustered out of service, about 500 strong. They were received in a sort of ovation by the citizens as they marched through the city. Their Colonel, N. L. Anderson, brought back the boys," largely from the elite of the city, in splendid physical condition. They had an entirely different appearance from the ordinary returning regiments, being very neat and cleanly in their appearance. Some thoughtful friends had supplied them, as they neared the city, with a due quantity of fresh paper collars as we were told-which were quite striking in contrast with their bronzed war

hardened countenances. It was a proud moment for the young men to be welcomed after their long absence by their lady friends from the streets, doors, and windows, with smiles and the waving of handkerchiefs. Eleven of their number subsequently received commissions in the regular army.

To have lived anywhere in our country during the long four years of the rebellion was to have had a variety of experience and emotion; especially was this true of Cincinnati. They were grand and awful times. What was to be the outcome no one could divine. Our first men could not tell us anything. They seemed insignificant in view of the stupendous, appalling events. At the beginning all dissenting voices were hushed in one general outburst of indignation. Later on, what were termed the " copperheads" raised their hissing heads. One mode of striking their fangs into the Union cause was by trying to weaken respect for those at the head of affairs. Mr. Lincoln seemed an especial object for their abuse. The most obscene anecdotes were coined and circulated as coming from him, to arouse disgust and destroy all respect and confidence in him. One of their public prints described him as an ape, a hyena, a grinning satyr, and the White House at Washington but a den where the baboon of Illinois and his satellites held their disgusting orgies." Going through our lower market one morning during the war, our ears were greeted with an expression that was new to us. turned to see the speaker and there stood before us an immense, fat, blowsy-faced market woman, evidently from the Kentucky side of the Ohio half a mile distant. she that had just belched forth in bitter, contemptuous tones the epithet, "Old Link.

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During the gloomy period when news of defeat was received, the faces of some of those around us would light up with exultation then they would say: O, I told you so they are better fighters than our soldiers, more warlike, and in earnest. We can never conquer them. The old Union is dead. We shall probably have three confederacies. The New England States and the East; the West; and the South, its geographical situation in connection with the Mississippi making it a necessity." Such was the talk to which those who loved the Union were compelled to listen in those times. It added to their distresses, while it excited their indignation and loathing. Not to record it would be a rank injustice to those who sacrificed for their country and a falsification of the truth of history by its concealment.

In such a time as we had in Cincinnati there are very many isolated scenes and incidents that each in itself is perhaps of no especial consequence, but if itemized and given in bulk are instructive, illustrating life there in the time of the rebellion. We give some within our personal experience.

The First Funeral.-When our volunteers left for Western Virginia it was generally

thought the trouble would soon be over. Never was there a greater hallucination. In a few weeks came tidings of skirmishes and deaths among those who had but just left us. At this juncture one day I was brought to a realizing sense of what war was. By chance I saw on Broadway, just above Fifth street, a group of servant-girls and children, with others, standing before a small brick house, evidently the home of humble people. A hearse and a few carriages were in front. The group looked on with sad, curious eyes. On inquiry I learned it was the funeral of a young man who had been killed in a skirmish in Western Virginia. In a little while an old man with his wife leaning on his arm, parents of the deceased, came out, bowed and heart-broken, followed by sorrowing brothers and sisters; they got into the carriages. which then slowly moved away. And this was what war mesut. Tears and heart-breaks and lives of sorrow and suffering to the inno cent and helpless.

The Gawky Officer.-There was, ordinarily, very little pride of military show among those engaged in so serious a business as war. The officers, when not on duty, generally appeared in undress. Our streets at times were thick with such. It was near the beginning when there passed, walking on Fourth street, by Pike's Opera House, a very tall, gawky officer, over six feet in stature. He was in full parade dress, with spreading epaulettes, and his stride was that which showed he had passed his days in plowed fields straddling from furrow to furrow. He evidently felt he was creating a sensation in the big city-and he was. Every one turned and looked at this specimen of pomp, fuss and feathers, with comical emotion.

Falling in Battle.-We asked a young man, a captain who had come home on furlough, by the name of Emerson, whom we well knew, if he had ever seen any one fall in battle. He laughed as though the thought was new and replied, "No, I don't know that I ever did," and then turning to a companion said, "Tom, did you?" "The latter replied the same. Being always in front they had their eyes only to watch the enemy before them. Both had seen plenty after they were down, but never one in the act of falling. A few months passed. Emerson had gone to the front. He had command of a small fort down in Tennessee, built to protect a railroad bridge. The enemy made an attack and were repelled. One man only had they killed. It was its commander, Emerson, his head carried away by a cannon ball. He was a handsome fellow, black eyes and rosy cheeks. His character was of the best. His pastor, Rev. Dr. Henry M. Storrs, said in speaking of his sacrifice: So pure and noble was he that his very presence on our streets was a continued fragrance." That laughing, pleas ant face is now before me, just as though it was yesterday that he said, "Tom, did you?"

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Contraband Soldiers.-Ordinarily, men in uniform are so transformed that it was rarely that we could tell, on seeing a regiment

marching through the streets, whether it was Irish, German or American. In regard to one class of Union soldiers there could be no mistake the negro. On Fifth street, close to Main, on the large space in front of the present Government Building, was reared a huge, shed-like structure, one story high, for barracks. Late in the war it was occupied briefly by a regiment or more of plantation blacks, clad in the Union uniform. They were a very different-looking people from our Northern blacks, many of whom possess bright, interesting faces. These were stolid-appearing, their faces with but little more expression than those of animals. When I saw them they had finished their suppers and were engaged in whiling away their time singing plantation melodies in the gathering shadows of the evening. The voices of this immense multitude went up in a grand orchestra of sound. The tunes were plaintive, weirdlike, and the whole exhibition one that could not but affect the thoughtful mind. It was singularly appealing to one's best instincts to look upon these poor, simple children of nature,

who were acting their humble part in the midst of events so momentous.

At times our city was alive with troops, and then it was that the theatres and places of amusement-and places of wickedness-as in Paris during the Reign of Terror, were extraordinarily prosperous. At other times only a few people were seen on the streets, so many of the men having gone to the war. After the fall of Richmond it was felt that the great bulk of the fighting was over; but it was largely feared that the South would for years continue a scene of guerilla warfare and keep society in a state of chaos. The assassination of Mr. Lincoln came-a terrible blow in the midst of rejoicings at peace. Strong men could only speak of it with swelling throats and choked utterance. The nation writhed in agony. Then came the return of the regiments to their varied homes; but everywhere, amid the general rejoicings, were the stricken families to be reminded only the more vividly of the terrible loss of fathers, sons and brothers, who had died that the nation might live.

CINCINNATI IN 1877.

In 1877, after a residence in Cincinnati of thirty years, we returned to our. native city, New Haven, when we gave, in a publication there, the annexed description of Cincinnati as it then was. The article is now historical, and hence proper here for permanent record; beside, we wish to preserve it as a heartfelt tribute to a city where, and a people among whom, our children were born, and where we had so much enjoyment of life. The caption of the article was "Cincinnati on the Hills."

Recently an Eastern gentleman, a divine of national reputation, at one time like the writer a resident of Cincinnati a gentleman of broad experience of travel and association in this and other lands-remarked to us: "Cincinnati is the exceptional city of the world, for the social character of its people and the wise generosity and the public spirit of its wealthy men and citizens generally. We had long felt this, and were pleased to see it so emphasized by one with such opportunities for a correct opinion.

In April, 1832, Catherine Beecher first arrived at Walnut Hills, then largely in the primeval forest, and before her sister Harriet had come to eventually marry Calvin Stowe, and fill up forthe writing of "Uncle Tom." To her Catherine wrote: "I never saw a place so capable of being rendered a paradise. by the improvements of taste as the environs of this city." Thirty years later the improvements were well started when out came Theodore Woolsey, president of Yale College, to Walnut Hills for a visit, and, alike enthused, said: "No other city on the globe has such beautiful suburbs.'

Prevalence of Public Spirit-While other of our great cities may each point to one or two living citizens who have contributed in single gifts tens of thousands to objects promotive of the public welfare, Cincinnati can

point to five gentlemen of this class now walking her streets, pleasant to meet, as seeing them recalls their beneficence. They are Reuben Springer, who gave $175,000 toward a music hall, and later regretted that he had not given its full cost, $300,000; Joseph Longworth, $50,000 for a Free Art School; Henry Probasco, $105,000 for a public fountain; David Sinton, $33,000 for a Christian association building, and also $100,000 for the Bethel Sunday-School, where every Sabbath from 2,500 to 3,000 children of the poor are gathered under one roof; and William S. Groesbeck, $50,000 for music in the parks. Beside these are scores of others equally liberal, according to their means, often dispensing hundreds and sometimes thousands in their gifts.

Cincinnati's Blessings.-The people are so social, come together so much for social objects, that everybody worth knowing is generally known. Pride in themselves, in their city and in their public spirit, is a manifest and righteous characteristic. They stand on tiptoe when their city is named, and feel a foot taller.

The city is near the centre of population, in the very heart of the Union. It is said to be more familiarly known on the continent of Europe, more noticed in the public prints, especially in Germany, from its peculiar

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SQUIRREL HUNTERS CROSSING THE OHIO AT CINCINNATI.

The Squirrel Hunters of Ohio and Indiana, many thousands strong, having poured into Cincinnati to defend it from invasion, are crossing the Ohio on pontoons, Wednesday morning, September 10, 1862, to meet the enemy, only five miles distant.

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