g of a mother's heart for her child was not stronger
than the influences of the material world?

Upon Will mother sought to impress the responsibilities of his destiny.
She reminded him of the prediction of the fortune-teller, that "his name
would be known the world over."

"But," said she, "only the names of them that are upright, brave,
temperate, and true can be honorably known. Remember always that 'he
that overcometh his own soul is greater than he who taketh a city.'
Already you have shown great abilities, but remember that they carry
with them grave responsibilities. You have been a good son to me. In
the hour of need you have always aided me so that I can die now feeling
that my children are not unprovided for. I have not wished you to enlist
in the war, partly because I knew you were too young, partly because my
life was drawing near its close. But now you are nearly eighteen, and
if when I am gone your country needs you in the strife of which we in
Kansas know the bitterness, I bid you go as soldier in behalf of the
cause for which your father gave his life."

She talked until sleep followed exhaustion. When she awoke she tried to
raise herself in bed. Will sprang to aid her, and with the upward look
of one that sees ineffable things, she passed away, resting in his arms.

Oh, the glory and the gladness
Of a life without a fear;
Of a death like nature fading
In the autumn of the year;
Of a sweet and dreamless slumber,
In a faith triumphant borne,
Till the bells of Easter wake her
On the resurrection morn!

Ah, for such a blessed falling
Into quiet sleep at last,
When the ripening grain is garnered,
And the toil and trial past;
When the red and gold of sunset
Slowly changes into gray;
Ah, for such a quiet passing,
Through the night into the day!

The morning of the 22d day of November, 1863, began the saddest day of
our lives. We rode in a rough lumber wagon to Pilot Knob Cemetery, a
long, cold, hard ride; but we wished our parents to be united in death
as they had been in life, so buried mother in a grave next to father's.

The road leading from the cemetery forked a short distance outside of
Leavenworth, one branch running to that city, the other winding homeward
along Government Hill. When we were returning, and reached this fork,
Will jumped out of the wagon.

"I can't go home when I know mother is no longer there