In retrospecting the past, I find conflicting emotions alternately taking possession of my heart, emotions both of joy and sorrow. There are many pleasant remembrances connected with my “army life;” but, ah! there are also many sad reflections. My experience, though varied, sometimes joyous and again heart-rending, I would not take a fortune for. Good opportunities were afforded for the study of that greatest of all studies, human nature. Every trait of the human heart might be detected, not only the evil passions, but also the God-like virtues. There were many pleasures experienced in working for the soldier. It was pleasant to meet, not only old friends and acquaintances, but to form new ones. It was pleasant to see countenances light up as one entered the wards where the sick and wounded were lying. It was pleasant to know that your efforts, however humble, were gratefully appreciated--yea, an hundredfold. And there was a melancholy pleasure even in administering to dying wants; but the best of all was the consciousness of doing good; but the sad reflections far outweigh all the pleasant experiences. It is sad to think of the desolate homes, of the broken family circles, of the lonely firesides, of the many sorrowing ones all over our land. It is sad to think of the thousands of widowed wives and fatherless children, of so many loving mothers who wait in vain for the return of their darling boys, and of aged fathers who have none upon whom to lean, the staff of their declining years having been broken. It is sad to see so many crippled youth, so many empty sleeves. “Empty sleeves! oh, sad reminders Of that long and dreary night, Mournful tokens of the battle, Saddest traces of the fight; Telling us how heroes suffered For their country and the right. “But those empty sleeves are hallowed By the grave the battle leaves-- Mournful pride and saddest glory, Noblest gift our land receives. Honor to those gallant heroes! Honor to those empty sleeves!” When we think of the untold millions spent, and the myriads of lives sacrificed in crushing out the rebellion--for “from Western plain to ocean-tide are stretched the graves of those who died”--the price seems too costly. But how truthful the following: “Some things are worthless, and others so good That nations who buy them pay only in blood.” And only when we remember the grand result achieved--“that the canker of death, dark slavery’s stain,” is wiped out forever, and our glorious Union maintained--can we feel that the three hundred thousand graves where sleep the “Boys in White” were not made in vain. “Noble souls! oh, how heroic Was the sacrifice they made, When the awful tide of treason By their own life-blood was stayed, And their manhood’s strength and glory On their country’s altar laid.