On New Year's morning a deeply interested audience met in the room occupied both for school-room and chapel, and at 10 a. m., Mr. Floyd Snelson, (colored) President of the day, called the meeting to order, and services were conducted as follows: (1.) Singing—"From all that dwell below the skies." (2) Reading the Scriptures, by Miss Johnson, of Enfield, Connecticut. (3.) Prayer, by Deacon Stickney, (colored.) (4.) Reading of the Emancipation Proclamation, by Miss Parmelee, of Toledo, Ohio. (5) Singing—"Oh, praise and thanks,"—Whittier. (6) Address by Rev. Dr. H. W. Pierson. This programme having been carried out, the entire audience was formed into a procession and marched to the Cemetery, about half a mile north of us, under the direction of Mr. Houghton, of Brooklyn, New York, Marshal of the day. That procession, embracing so many happy Freedmen and representatives from so many States, moving with so much order, and bearing such beautiful wreaths, was certainly one of the most impressive and beautiful I have ever seen. I am sure the sight would have melted tens of thousands of hearts could they have looked upon it. Onward they marched upon their sacred mission, singing at times most appropriate and beautiful songs: winding down the hillside, crossing upon a single scantling the muddy stream that furnished water for our own prisoners, passing near the rude cabin where the blood-hounds were penned, in full view of the stockades where so many thousands yielded up their lives, moving onward and up the gentle elevation with slow and solemn tread, they at length reached the front (south) entrance of the Cemetery, where the procession halted. On the right (east) of the gate is a post and tablet in the form of a cross, bearing this inscription: "National Cemetery, Andersonville, Georgia." On the left (west) of the gate is a similar post and tablet, bearing this inscription:
"On Fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards, with solemn round,
This bivouac of the dead."
A young lady, designated for the purpose, left the procession and hung one of our most beautiful wreaths upon the cross above this inscription.
The gates were then thrown open, and the entire procession entered the Cemetery. But how shall I describe the scene spread out before us as we entered this solemn, silent city of the nation's dead? The Cemetery contains forty-three acres, which are enclosed by a high board fence. It is divided into four principal sections by broad avenues, running north and south, and east and west, intersecting each other at right angles at the center of the grounds. There is a sidewalk and row of young trees on each side of these avenues. And then on either side of these avenues and walks, what fields, what fields of white head-boards, stretching away in long white parallel lines to the north and south, each with its simple record of the name, regiment, and date of death of him who lies beneath it. So they sleep their long sleep, lying shoulder to shoulder in their graves as they had stood together in serried ranks on many a field of battle.
Resuming our march, and moving up the broad avenue, with rank upon rank, and thousands upon thousands of these solemn sentinels upon either side of us, we find on the left (west) side of the avenue, a tablet with this inscription:
"The hopes, the fears, the blood, the tears,
That marked the bitter strife,
Are now all crowned by victory
That saved the nation's life."
We paused, and hung a wreath above this inscription, and then moved on to a tablet on the right (east) side of the avenue, with this inscription:
"Whether in the prison drear,
Or in the battle's van,
The fittest place for man to die,
Is where he dies for man."
We hung a wreath here, and again our procession moved forward and halted on the left (west) side of the avenue, at a tablet bearing the inspired words:
"Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was; and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it."