A SOLDIER OF THE CUMBERLAND.

CHAPTER I.

CHILDHOOD.

Birth-Affectionate disposition-Love of music- - Conscientiousness- Generosity Love of nature- At school - Not ashamed to pray- His violin - Philosophical instruments - Mechanical genius-Miniature ship-Sympathy for the poor-. A teacher in the Sabbath school-Sickness The pleasure boat.

EAD HOLMES, JR., the only son of Rev. Mead Holmes and Mary D. A. Holmes, of Manitowoc, Wis., was born in Ellicottville, N. Y., October 29, 1841, and fell at Murfreesboro', Tenn., April 12, 1863, at the age of twenty-one years and five months.

His early childhood was most affectionate, unselfish, and truthful. Attachment to his mother, who did not often delegate her care and authority to nurses and servants, but was his constant companion and counselor, formed a prominent trait of his character; and his sprightly inquiry, when casually looking up

from his play, "Don't we love each other, mother?" became a sportive household phrase. Of a pleasant, loving disposition, yet too sensitive to battle even with the roughnesses of a tender child's life, he was never so happy as when, with her, he sat reading, studying, and drawing. In the latter, especially, he excelled; nor was he satisfied till every picture in his books of study was nicely painted, and he could draw a ship or sketch a landscape. He was very fond of music, and most sensitive to its pathetic tones. When but four or five years old, he could not hear the Jewish captives' moan, in the plaintive strains of "Melton," without weeping. Before he could speak plainly, he was heard singing "Do, do," in a room by himself. A friend looking in, found him playing earnestly, with a knife for a bow, and a board for a violin; "Moosic, moosic," exclaimed the little fellow, while his eyes glistened with the pleasure of his solo.

At the age of three years he was the subject of many serious thoughts, and often, when he had done wrong, he earnestly asked God's forgiveness; and the prayer of his parents was, that his heart might then be renewed. Why could not regenerating grace be imparted to the child in comparative innocence as well as to the man confirmed in depravity? His mother

was specially impressed with the importance of his immediate conversion, and there has always been ground of hope that a radical change in him then took place. From this time he seemed to feel that Jesus was his friend, to whom he could go with all his trials, and who would finally receive him to Heaven.

Great care had been taken that his young mind should not be clouded by gloomy representations of death and the future state. Hence, during a severe illness, when I remarked in his presence that I feared he would not live long, he said, "Then, father, I shall go up to be with the holy angels and the blessed Jesus." All was light beyond the grave. In these skeptical times, who does not covet a child's faith?

From early childhood he was eminently conscientious, often reporting his misdeeds, and saying, "Mamma, I ought to be punished." When left to choose his own punishment he never chose the lighter, and such self-reproach did he manifest, that it was difficult for a parent to inflict even this. Often, when feeling wrong, he would retire of his own accord, and, in his childish way, ask God to help him master his own spirit. This, no doubt, was the secret of the self-control so manifest in his future life.

He required but little sleep, and often at the midnight hour would his whisper awaken his

mother: "I can't sleep; please tell me a story." And thus he learned the Bible stories and Ten Commandments so thoroughly and accurately that, if misquoted, he instantly noticed it. Before he could read he was perfectly familiar with "Todd's Lectures to Children," and they exerted a powerful influence upon his life. He was generous to a fault. Having purchased a beautiful set of books for him, I found half of them scattered among his little friends the first day. He had no idea of keeping so many when "the others had none." Often did he weep for others' sorrows. Once, when asked what was the matter, "Oh," said he, " Willie is in trouble, and I can not help him." He was an ardent admirer of nature. The grove, the running brook, where he had a variety of miniature wheels, the delicate flower, the rocky summit, the crashing thunder-storm, were his delight,— the beautiful, the grand, the sublime. His walks and rambles were full of sport, and he was ever on the alert for curiosities. A herbarium of fair size, collections of curious stones, forsaken birds'-nests, skeletons of small animals, and preserved insects decorated his room.

In his sixth year he began to attend school, but his health would not bear the confinement, and he soon returned home to mingle study with recreation. Here his education was well

At

conducted, and his progress satisfactory. the age of ten he visited New York city, New Jersey, and Massachusetts. The trip he enjoyed much, and his health was

greatly improved. Soon after, he commenced attending a select school superintended by his mother, where began a new course of discipline. The youngest of fifty pupils, one-half of whom were lads, who, though gentlemanly and obedient in school hours, were inclined to be wild and noisy at other times, surprised at the small distinction they made between right and wrong, hearing now the profane word, now the vulgar jest and coarse laugh, his moral sensibilities were shocked. While the pet of some, for others he was a target. "Do you pray, Mead?" said one of nearly twice his age. "Oh, a praying little Christian! Did you pray this morning, my little saint?" "I am not ashamed to pray," said the brave boy, "and I did pray this morning."

As a clergyman's son, he was closely watched; but his modesty and kindness won upon all. The first piece he spoke was "Casabianca," — a character which he greatly admired, but entering too deeply into the scene described, he burst into tears, and rushed to his seat. Recovering himself, he returned to the rostrum, and spoke with distinctness and the pathos of reality. One