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The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
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Text for Page 105 [05-18-1851]

              sought the embrace of death�s half brother Sleep, the man above died.
   No more for him this world with its joys, sorrows and thoughts.   All will rise in
the morrow to their labours; � he by that simple, strange, awful act hath become su-
perior to all of them.   The poorest clown does a great act in dying; � day commonplace
till Great Death renders its spirit-sister wiser than All of us.             A tall fellow
was the man; � ( on the morrow I saw his body)  not thirty; and Tipperary born.
No kith nor kin here to mourn for him; little I trow do those who knew him, a child;
picture him lying with rigid cold face in the silent midnight room.  He had deserted
from the British Canadian service, (common enow); and meeting his old Colonel in 
Broad-
way had, mechanically saluted him � it had been drilled into him.  That is all I know
of the man, save his name � Fabin.
  19.  Monday.  Reading Lamartine�s �Gironde� &c  till Barth and I crossed
first to Brooklyn, then New York. Met Anderson.  /    A solitary ramble on the
Battery while Barth visited the Margaretta.   Joining me, we went to Robinson,
and from thence to Canal.   Homer Hall out with us, we parting with him in Brooklyn,
and re-erasing to the Island, I having desire to witness a military funeral. Snug din-
ner, shaver bath &c.      A plain red-brown hued coffin, with escort of soldiers in blue
arriving at the Hospital gate; a little procession formed, the band play a sad tune,
and they march on to the little, fenced-in, sea-side burial ground, wherein the fresh
tall grass blades quiver in the sunlight.  Forming around a shallow grave, the comman-
ding officer reads aloud and uncovered, (as are the spectators) the beautiful burial 
service.
That done, to the words of command, three several volleys are fired over his grave;
and then, to a lively, quick step the men defile off.       Anon we encountered
Creesey, another, and an auld Scotsman, who had looked on Napoleon, talked of 
Nelson
and been far in his joureneyings.     He, getting keys took us to Castle Williams
(the old park-pie-resembling fort.�)   Mounting to the summit, not forgetting a glance at
a furnace for heating common-shot red hot below, we from this stern, still Bellona�s
temple looked out, mounted on the huge cannon, which guard the ramparts.     A fair               
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