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[347] for a soldier. It was as grand as anything Temple ever imagined in all his fancies.

The first firing called one of the officers away. He cut a sprig of green, left it to be thrown into the grave as a last tribute of love for the dead, and, with tears in his eyes, hastened to his post. The other two nailed down the lid of the coffin amid the roar of musketry, and as the four soldiers lowered the coffin to its resting-place there came a fitting requiem. A few rods to the right rested the left of a battery of twelve guns, which now opened upon the enemy with all their fury. It seemed as if all this were for the funeral service; for when the grave had been filled up, and the two friends turned away, the attack ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and there was no more fighting that night.

Of the few days that followed, all know the history. Three weeks afterwards, Temple's body, then within the enemy's lines, was recovered under a flag of truce, and it now rests in the family vault at Albany.

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