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 In the spring of the following year (1899) the bodies of several hundred soldiers who had died in Cuba were brought home for final interment. I happened to be in the capital again and heard that there was to be a military funeral that afternoon. I had some curiosity to see a military funeral, and so, having nothing else to do, went to the church where it was to be held. You can imagine my surprise when I was told that it was the funeral of the boy who had once tended the cigar stand in the lobby of the St. James and read Reeves' History of the English Law, the boy who had afterward gone to the city to practise law, and, later, enlisted in the First Infantry to die in Cuba. There were not many at the funeral, for, of course, he was only a private. There was a woman there in black, probably his aunt, or mother, for she appeared to weep, and some girl. Out at the cemetery—Oak Wood, where a general is buried—there were few persons besides the clergyman, and the woman and the girl. A local militia company had sent a firing squad, and it fired the salute prescribed for a private over the grave, and a bugler stood at the head and blew taps, the soldier's good night. Happening to have a rose or two with me, I