THE IRISH VOLUNTEER.

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fights with him on one side, Mercy binds up wounds on the other.

"O'Meara is dead, then?" said the general, at Chattanooga.

"Yes, sir,” replied the officer of the day to whom the inquiry was addressed. "His body is about being sent forward.”

"Gallant O'Meara !" continued Grant, as if communing with his own spirit, and the spirits of the brave around him. "Gone! A braver man never

filled a saddle!"

"He is at the landing now, waiting to be put on the boat."

"I knew him well," the general spoke on, as if he heeded not what was said by his companion-"He was with us in the Army of the Tennessee. I shall never forget his noble defence of the trestle-work at Holly Springs. He saved us all from starvation. Noble O'Meara! Brave Irish Legion!"

"Would you like to see him, general?" "I should. Let us go."

The two officers passed together to the little steamer by the levee of the river.

It was a touching sight. A group of officers and men had gathered on the deck and levee, while others stood looking on along the adjacent heights. The coffin, covered with the American flag, lay on the

army bier. The procession had halted, and the boat was about to start.

Stop the steamer a moment," said the general solemnly; "I want to see him."

An orderly removed the colors and the coffin-lid. The hero bent over his departed comrade, and dropped a silent tear on the cold face. His lip quivered, as it always does when he is experiencing deep emotion. He clasped his hands over the breast of the young Irish volunteer who had come so willingly with him from the same State, who had stood so gallantly by his side in the deadly hurtlings of battle, who had fought so bravely to save his whole army from death by starvation, and who had now offered up a youthful life as a sweet, rich sacrifice on the altar of his country. An exile and a pilgrim from his own native land, he had come to America to die for the flag that is the emblem of liberty throughout the world.

Sad, yet glorious scene! It was like the framework of a tender, silent, historic picture to infold and preserve the lineaments of Ulysses Grantthe man who inspired the gallant living by honoring the gallant dead.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CALLED TO WASHINGTON.

N the evening of Tuesday, March 8th, 1864, a

ΟΝ stranger was seen walking quietly into the din

ing-room of Willard's Hotel, at the capital of the nation. A bright boy clasped his hand, and sat by his side at the public table. The two seats were taken among the unnoticed and unknown.

The same stranger had written on the register of the hotel the unassuming record:

"U. S. Grant and son, Nashville, Tennessee.” It was the last stopping-place of father and child. As they took their seats for the usual repast provided for guests a gentleman from New Orleans recognized them. In an instant the news spread through the establishment. The boarders present, of whom there were hundreds at the time, rose to their feet by a simultaneous impulse, and in another instant cheer upon cheer rang through the room. All who could reach his seat rushed forward to greet him, while he, confused and blushing, received their applause with a modest bow. As he left the tea-room other admir

ing crowds flocked around his path so thickly that it was with difficulty he could obtain an entrance to his private apartment. The man who had not shrunk from the batteries of the enemy was now prone to retire from this artillery of the gratitude and friendship of his countrymen. He was completely overpowered and fairly driven from the field.

In the evening he attended the customary levee of President Lincoln at the Executive Mansion. The enthusiasm at his presence was unbounded and uncontrollable. The people literally lifted him from his feet, drove him by sheer force of popular pressure to an adjacent sofa, and obliged him to mount the ramparts of their will, conquered, at last. It was the most thrilling scene of the kind that ever occurred at the White House. On one side stood Grant, a few inches above the masses around him. On the other stood President Lincoln, almost as high from the floor, cheering heartily with all the rest of his fellowcitizens. The tribute was spontaneous, cordial, patriotic; every way worthy of the man, of the place and the country.

But Grant had come to Washington by direct order of the Commander-in-Chief on special business of importance—not for personal recreation or public parade. He was by no means insensible to these grateful manifestations of confidence and good-will from his fellow-countrymen. They were not, however, in his line.

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On retiring from this levee he said quietly to a friend :

"I hope to get away from Washington as soon as possible, for I am tired of the show business' already."

The ensuing day, March the 9th, 1864, was the time fixed by President Lincoln for presenting him his commission as Lieutenant-General. The ceremony took place in the Executive Chamber, in front of the Presidential Chair, in presence of all the Cabinet, Major-General Halleck, Hon. Owen Lovejoy, then representative in Congress from the State of Illinois, and other invited guests.

The scene was as republican as it was impressive. Gen. Grant having entered the chamber President Lincoln rose from his chair and addressed him thus:

"GEN. GRANT,- The nation's approbation of what you have already done, and its reliance on you for what remains to do in the existing great struggle, is now presented with this commission, constituting you Lieutenant-General of the Army of the United States.

"With this high honor devolves on you a corresponding responsibility. As the country herein trusts you, so, under God, it will sustain you.

"I scarcely need add that with what I here speak for the nation goes my own hearty personal concurrence."

Gen. Grant accepted the commission, and, holding it in his hand, briefly replied: