OF THE AUTHOR. xxxv 



change had taken place, and that he had great hopes. But this 

 was fallacious. Even then the 



" Single warrior, in sombre harness mailed, 

 Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, 

 The rampart wall had scaled." 



Hiram was anxious to talk then, but Mr. Marshall wanted him 

 to keep quiet ; so he left him with Mrs. Woodruff, who had made 

 him some beef-tea. Towards night he grew weaker and weaker. 

 Through the long, sad watches of that mournful night he failed 

 gradually, but retained his consciousness. Fondly pressing the 

 hand of his dear wife, and with many a look of affection cast upon 

 the brother of his heart, Marshall, and Hiram Howe, he gradually 

 sank away, and died without a groan or pang, as a baby falls 

 to sleep. It was ten minutes to four o'clock in the morning when 

 he died ; and the last clearly articulate word that he spoke was 

 " HORSE 1 " 



The news of his death caused an extraordinary sensation. 

 Thousands who had never seen him business men, professional 

 men, and idlers spoke of it as the event of the time, and always 

 with kindness and regret. It was the same all over the country, 

 for there was not a man in America, except perhaps General Grant, 

 esteemed by a greater number of people than Hiram Woodruff. 



The funeral was held on Sunday, in the afternoon. The weather 

 was terrible for the season ; and the roads so bad, that it was only 

 by work like that with which pioneers precede an army, that the 

 house of mourning was reached by many from a distance. The 

 snow lay thick and deep, and fell all day. The wind howled from 

 the east. White-bearded Winter had come back to shiver over 

 the grave of this great, honest man. Nevertheless, there was a 

 great concourse of people at the funeral. Full of attachment and 

 regret, they had come from all parts to pay the last tribute of love 

 and respect to their friend. The place was crowded in every part. 

 About a hundred and fifty carriages and large sleighs were under 

 the sheds all about. Some of them had been drawn by four horses ; 

 and this was a wise forethought on the part of their owners. 

 Hiram lay in the parlor, in a handsome coffin of rosewood with 

 silver-plated furniture. We say HIRAM, because, as he lay there, 

 he looked so natural and composed, that he seemed no cold corpse, 

 but a composition that still had life in it, and might awake and 



