the outer forts; with its theatres closed, its gas-lights extinguished, and its markets destitute of meat, poultry, fish, and game. He was not at the time communicative respecting his visit, but he expressed his opinion that Paris could not be successfully defended, and that it could not be taken by assault. In 1852, General Burnside married Mary Richmond Bishop, a most excellent and accomplished woman, graced with every virtue that adorns her sex. After a most happy union, she died in 1876. During the five years that he survived her he did not cease to lament her. General Burnside united as many excellencies with as few failings as often meet in one character. Brave, manly, generous, he joined to the rugged masculine virtues and "all that may become a man" a softness and gentleness of disposition that became a woman. Quick in his conceptions, rapid in his processes, he was sometimes hasty in his judgments; but he always held them open to evidence, and subject to argument, and with a singular absence of the pride of opinion, he changed them frankly, on conviction. He believed in general laws, to the test of whose principles he brought particular cases. Incapable of guile, liberal in his estimate of men, he was, occasionally, too little suspicious of the guilefulness of others. Yet he was no mean judge of character, and no man long deceived him; nor ever twice. He had an instinctive horror of injustice, and a genuine contempt for meanness; yet his horror of the one and his contempt for the other were, to a certain extent, modified by his charitableness; and after strongly denouncing a wrong, he would interpose some palliation for the wrong-doer, would find some generous mitigation of the offence which he could not defend and could not overlook. No man was firmer in his friendships or more faithful in his convictions. Nothing could tempt him to an act which his conscience condemned. No sophistry, no personal appeal could move him from his fixed idea of right. General Burnside was a man of profound religious beliefs. He held firmly to the truths of religion, natural and revealed, and had full confidence in a superintending Providence, which, whether working by general laws, or by special interposition, he cared not to inquire, ruled in the affairs of men. He had a faith, almost superstitious in its force, that men were rewarded for their good, and were punished for their evil deeds, even in this world; that, in the long run a man did not suffer from an honest conduct, or profit from a dishonest one. Often, when under a sense of injustice toward himself, or lamenting it in others, he has said to me, "Well, there is a good Father above, who watches over us, and who will bring all this out right, in the end;" and while holding, with the tenacity of conviction, to his own deliberate judgments, he was most generous in his estimate of others, never seeking or, save in the plainest cases, accepting an unworthy motive when a worthy one could be found applicable. He had, also, an undoubting faith in elective institutions, and that the people, however they might be misled in the beginning, would ultimately decide, correctly and patriotically, every question on which they were called upon to act. That sanguine temperament, which enters so largely into the elements of success, made him always confident of the final triumph of the political principles in which he firmly believed. He had what seemed to me an exaggerated estimate of the rights and just powers and duties of our government toward the other American states; and looked forward to the supremacy of our flag over almost the entire continent,- —a consummation, however, which, as he fully believed it would come in God's good time, he would not hasten by act of violent aggression, although, as the Senate knows, he was strongly in favor of asserting our rights, by declaratory legislation. Need I speak, in this presence, of General Burnside's hospitality, so cordial! so elegant! yet so simple and so unostentatious! Who that has enjoyed it, who that has seen his genial countenance and his commanding form, at the head of his table, can forget them? 66 General Burnside was strongly attached to rural pleasures and addicted to agricultural pursuits. His little estate, of fifty-seven acres, near Bristol, and named Edghill Farm," after his father and his paternal grand'mother, was a model farm, and, by the application of science to practical experience, had been brought to a high state of cultivation; and prouder than of all his successes in the field, and in the forum, he seemingly was of his meadow that cut three tons to the acre, and of his corn-field that yielded sixteen hundred bushels to twelve acres. His herd of Alderneys, of the purest blood, and of the finest character, was the admiration of the neighborhood. He was very fond of his horses and his cattle, which — such is the effect of steady kindness even upon the brute creation - knew his voice, and always welcomed his approaching steps. His favorite horse the gift of some unknown friend- that had borne him on many a hard-fought field, lived to the age of nigh thirty years, and, long past service to his owner, became by reason of age and infirmity, a burden to himself, till life was nothing but a prolonged suffering. Yet the general was reluctant, even at the dictate of humanity, to have him killed. At last, he yielded, and ordered the animal to be shot, but not till he should have departed for Washington. The time of that departure never came. The day when the lifeless body of the Senator was borne from the farm that he loved so well, the faithful beast was shot. General Burnside delivered several speeches and addresses at agricultural meetings. These were replete with sound doctrine, practical suggestions, and sturdy common sense. Among his papers was an address that he had prepared, to be delivered before the Aquidneck Agricultural Society of Rhode Island, whose fair a slight indisposition, just before the fatal attack, had prevented him from attending. In the cultivation and improvement of his farm, he took the greatest delight. He loved to watch the ripening fruit, the young trees putting forth their tender leaves and extending their growing branches, the yellow field, tremulous with the waving harvest. Always, on the adjournment of the Senate, he turned, with eager steps, to his chosen acres. They are situated on a ridge of land gently sloping to Mount Hope Bay, an indentation of the broader Narragansett, and navigable to the shore of the farm, commanding a view seldom equaled, by land and water, including a portion of the island that gives its name to the State, the beautiful rural town of Bristol, the white roofs of Fall River, whose tall chimneys continually darken the sky with the smoke of toil, and Mount Hope, the ancient seat of King Philip, and the place where that renowned warrior was slain. The house is of a quaint and peculiar construction, built after the General's own fancy, and from his own designs, and, in its architecture and appointments, suggesting the idea of a maritime structure. Here, he dispensed an elegant and profuse, yet simple and inexpensive hospitality. The highest personages in the land and the humblest soldier that ever fought by his side met the same cordial reception, the same frank and unaffected welcome. The great dining-room, around whose table many who listen to me have sat, is inclosed with broad piazzas, having curious and original arrangements, the fruit of the general's mechanical tastes, for protection from the fervid heats of summer and the chilling blasts of winter, and is distinguished by an enormous fire-place, over which rise the huge antlers of a great deer or caribou. Ah! the genial hospitality of that famous room! In my mind's eye, the picture is before me! The farm is a lovely spot, never lovelier than on the sad day when I saw it last, bathed in the soft light of early November, bending beneath the golden weight of autumn, resplendent with the hues of the dying year. General Burnside's death was very sudden. The afternoon before, he was at my house, in Providence. He had been a little ill, for a few days previous, but with nothing that caused apprehension. He left me gaily, promising to return the next morning. He insisted upon walking to the railroad-station, half a mile distant, saying that the exercise would do him good. On the following morning I received a telephonic message that he was very ill, and requesting me to come to him. Before a carriage could be brought to the door, a second message came, saying that he was dead. He had been alarmingly ill, scarcely an hour. Of all those who loved him, only his faithful and attached servants stood by his dying bed. Shall we lament the manner of such a death? Is it not better than the slow decay, the wasted form, the failing mind of age? To him whom a life of usefulness and of goodness has prepared for his coming, death, when he comes unannounced, comes robbed of half his terrors. Let us find consolation for that portion of him which has died, in the contemplation of that portion which could not die, in the memory of his services to his country, his great achievements, his unselfish generosity, his patriotism, his public and his private virtues. General Burnside was of fine address, of a commanding stature, a strikingly handsome man. The frankness of his expression and the sweetness of his smile, at once won upon the observer, and prepared him for that favorable judgment which a fuller acquaintance never failed to confirm. His age was fifty-seven. I think that no man survives him whose form and features are known to a greater number of persons. They were calculated to attract attention, and once seen were not likely to be forgotten. His acquaintance in the army, where he had held large commands, his frequent journeyings at home, and his foreign travel; his entrance into Paris, at a time and under circumstances that rendered him the observed of all observers, made him familiar to hundreds of thousands who did not have his personal acquaintance. Upon my personal relations with General Burnside I do not dwell; I scarce venture to speak of them. As you know, Senators, they were of the most intimate and tender character. During our whole service together, they were never disturbed by differences or clouded by doubt or distrust. Not always agreeing upon public measures, we differed, on those rare occasions when we did differ, with mutual respect and confidence. He was the most lovable man that I ever knew; and I loved him, I love him still, with a love which will find no successor to him, in my affection. Not a day has passed, since I last looked upon him, scarcely a waking hour, when he has not been in my mind. And even if I could have forgotten him, I should have been reminded of him by the expres sions of sympathy which have continually met me. "Ah! Jonathan! my brother! lorne And friendless I must looke to be! Is sore and strickene nowe for thee! Younge bridegroome's love on brydal morne Oh it was lyghte to thyne for me. Thy tymeless lotte I now must playne, Even on thyne own highe places slayne." Friend, companion, brother! hail and farewell! The memory of thy virtues and of thy services, and that thou did'st deem me worthy of thy friendship and thy confidence are my chief consolation, in the irreparable loss that I have suffered. CONTINUATION OF THE EULOGIES IN THE SENATE- -ADDRESSES BY SENATOR HARRISON, OF INDIANA; SENATOR WADE HAMPTON, OF SOUTH CAROLINA; AND SENATOR ALDRICH, OF RHODE ISLAND. S ENATOR HARRISON, who is a grandson of President Harrison, and who served honorably in the war for the suppression of the Rebellion, paid the following tribute to General Burnside, as a son of the State which he represented in the Senate: Mr. President: Senator Burnside was a native of Indiana, from which State he entered the Military Academy in the year 1842. Since that time he has never resided in our State, but his affectionate interest in the place of his birth, and in his relatives who continued to reside there, was always manifest. In asking a little time to-day, in which to present an unpretentious but very sincere tribute to the memory of Senator Burnside, I am not responding merely to a formal duty which might seem to be imposed upon me as a representative of the State in which he was born, but also to the promptings of a friendship which, though brief, had in it the element of endurance, for it was founded on a very high respect for his character. I shall always count it a pleasant incident of my introduction to the Senate that I was so placed as to be much in his company during the last session of his service here. His greeting each morning was like a benediction - so much of grace and kindness was there in it. In the light of a short intimate acquaintance I find no difficulty in understanding the |