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hood; but that earlier bereavement, when the Dark Angel, for the first time invaded the home, has left an impression which time is feeble to efface.

Long years have flown since then-the snows of many winters have rested on his grave, and their pallid hue is imparted to my once dark locks; but that memory is still green, and sometimes I try to picture how it might be, had he been spared to see this day:

The old homestead, now so dreary and neglected, improved and modernized, might still be the center of a happy social and family circle, dispensing its hospitality as of yore; the fields be smiling under generous culture, and a warm welcome awaiting my occasional return to the only place I ever called-HOME!

But it was not so to be,-and can we say that it would be better thus? Can we say that he is not happier, or that the rugged path I am treading, may not yet lead to the fulfillment of my destiny?

STANDING BY THE OLD FLAG.

When twenty one years of age, I began teaching, and during my first summer vacation I officiated as clerk at the famous summer resort hotel, "The Spring House," at Richfield Springs, N.Y.

Those were stirring days- our civil war of 1861-65 was at its height then-brother striving against brother with an energy and desperation that boded final desolation to our fair land.

The battle of Gettysburg, with its fearful carnage, was fought early in July, bringing the conflict far north; the famous New York riot quickly followed, and strong men's faces blanched, at the prospect of the widespread ruin. For weeks following, the Old Flag seemed to hang limp at the mast-to almost trail in the dust.

At this time of my country's sorest need, I came to New York City, and enlisted as a common sailor in the United States Navy,

and was soon put aboard a battle-ship, and sent down on the Wilmington blockade, off the coast of North Carolina.

Here is where would properly come in the record of heroic deeds and glorious achievements; bnt unfortunately, the limited opportunities for distinguishing myself, and the lack of a fertile imagination, will make this part of my history only plain reading.

I went through the usual routine aboard a man-o'-war of washing down decks, drilling at the guns, also standing an occasional mast-head look-out, and my regular nightwatch and look-out on deck. This list was diversified with partaking of the regular ship's fare three times a day, and sleeping in a hammock a few hours at night.

But the monotonous life aboard ship was relieved occasionally by sighting a strange sail, when our vessel, which was a fast one, would give chase and overhaul the stranger.

This would cause the greatest excitement and activity among our crew, who would be ordered to their respective posts as we drew near, ready for action if the craft appeared

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