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 Thus passed away a noble, lofty soul ; thus ended a career, brief, it is true, but among the most arduous, glorious, and splen did of the war. Young, but immortal a boy in years, but heir to undying fame he was called away from the scene of his triumphs and glory to a brighter world, where neither wars nor rumours of wars can come, and wounds and pain and suffering are unknown ; where &quot; Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing Can touch him further I &quot; II. To him who writes these lines, the death of this noble youth has been inexpressibly saddening. It has cast a shadow on the very sunlight ; and the world seems, somehow, colder and more dreary since he went away. It was but yesterday almost that he was in his tent, and I looked into his frank, brave eyes, and heard his kind, honest voice.* There is the seat he occupied as we conversed the bed where he so often slept with me, pro longing his gay talk deep into the night. There are the books he read the papers which he wrote ; at this table he once sat, and here where my own hand rests has rested the hand of the Dead ! Every object thus recalls him, even as he lived an$ moved beside me but a few days ago. His very words seem still echoing in the air, and the dreary camp is full of his presence ! Nor am I the only one whose heart has bled for the young sol dier. All who knew him loved him for his gay, sweet temper, as they admired him for his unshrinking courage. I have seen no face over which a sort of shadow did not pass at the announce ment, &quot; Pelham is dead! &quot; &quot; Pelham is dead ! &quot; It is only another mode of saying &quot; honour is dead ! courage is dead ! modesty, kindness, courtesy, the inborn spirit of the true and perfect gentleman, the nerve of the soldier, the gaiety of the good companion, the kindly heart, and the reso lute soul all dead, and never more to revisit us in his person ! &quot; These words are not dictated by a blind partiality or mere 9
 * Written at &quot; Camp No. camp,&quot; in the spring of 1 863.