Then the stirring scenes of active life, he a man among men battling with the world, performing his daily duties, mingling honorably with his fellows, and upheld by a pride of honor and self-respect.
His sacrifices for his country in the dark hour of her peril.
The lonely marches, the weary burdens, the unflinching steadfastness of his fealty to his government The long nights of storm and danger, the varying episodes of pleasure and of pain, conflicts with enemies, and happy hours with friendly companions-all these thoughts came upon him with a distinctness which brought their actual presence near.
Now he was listening to the sweet lullaby of his mother's voice, now he stood in the hall of the “Sons of liberty,” in the midst of affrighted conspirators and blue-coated soldiers-anon he strayed by a purling stream, with a loved one upon his arm-and again he breasted the dashing waters and the deluging storm on the bay, as he rescued the women and children from the stranded boat.
So vivid were these pictures of his mind that he lived again a hundred scenes of his past life, partook of a hundred pleasures, shared in a hundred sorrows.
Suddenly in the midst of some thrilling vision of by-gone days, the flickering of his lamp or the tread of the sentry outside would recall him from a delightful reverie to the dark and dreadful present.
Then gloomy and despondent thoughts would come to him. He would picture minutely the scenes of the morrow, the rude platform,