two brothers, John and William, both of whom live in Windham county; Mr. J. B. Hasler, who married a sister of the General, residing at Webster, Massachusetts, and an unmarried sister. The brothers are men of family, and mostly all of their offspring were present on this occasion.

The ceremonies attendant upon the interment of General Lyon will form part of the history as yet unwritten, and the inhabitants of the quiet little town of Eastford will, a long time hence, remember the immense congregation assembled within its precincts to pay the last tribute of respect to the remains of the valiant but unfortunate chieftain. To Major Conant, Captain Plummer, Captain Edgar, Lieutenant Clark and the eight members of the Third Missouri Reserve Corps, the greatest credit is due for their unceasing watchfulness over the corpse entrusted to their charge.

The people having paid just homage to the gallant Lyon, and his own native soil covering his now inanimate body, let us drop a tear to his memory and turn away to brighter scenes, encourage our living heroes to do their duty to their country like the illustrious deceased, and our land will very soon again enjoy the blessings of which rebel traitors endeavored to rob her.

Requiescat in pace.

IN MEMORY OF GEN. LYON.

Enfurl our flag half-mast to-day,

In sorrow 'mid the clang of war, Each crimson stripe is turned to gray, To black each golden star.

The drooping breeze scarce stirs a fold,
The birds complain with fettered breath,

The clouds hang sullenly and cold-
For lo! a hero's death!

From far Missouri's prairie plain,

The echo of his battle cry
Sounds and recedes, and sounds again

His life-earned victory.

O, Lyon! on thy martial bier

The tears of grateful millions flow; And treason well may shrink and fear Its fated overthrow.

For wheresoe'er thy comrades stand,
To face the traitors, as of yore,
Thy prescient spirit shall command,
And lead the charge once more.

Then fling our flag mast-high to-day,
Triumphant 'mid the clang of war,
And death to him who shall betray
One single stripe or star!

New York Evening Post.

LYON.

Sing, bird, on green Missouri's plain,
The saddest song of sorrow:

Drop tears, Oh clouds, in gentlest rain
Ye from the winds can borrow;
Breathe out, ye winds, your softest sigh,
Weep, flowers, in dewy splendor,
For him who knew well how to die,
But never to surrender.

Uprose serene the August sun

Upon that day of glory;

Upcurled from musket and from gun
The war-cloud gray and hoary.

It gathered like a funeral pall,
Now broken and now blended,
Where rang the bugle's angry call,

And rank with rank contended.

Four thousand men, as brave and true

As e'er went forth in daring,

Upon the foe that morning threw

The strength of their despairing.

They feared not death-men bless the field That patriot soldiers die on

Fair Freedom's cause was sword and shield, And their head was Lyon!

Their leader's troubled soul looked forth

From eyes of troubled brightness;

Sad soul! the burden of the North

Had pressed out its lightness.

He gazed upon the unequal fight,

His ranks all rent and gory,

And felt the shadows close like night
Round his career of glory.

"General, come lead us !" loud the cry
From a brave band was ringing-
"Lead us, and we will stop, or die,

That battery's awful singing."