Hollywood near Richmond. "As you please, my dear," he said, "but do
not carry me through the pass until the ivy and laurel are in bloom
and you can cover my bier with their beauty." When the burial service
was read over him lying in state in the Institute library, Mrs.
Preston was not able to venture over the threshold, so she remained in
the shelter of the porch, and when the family returned from the
funeral she read them the lines she had composed in the hour that they
had been gone:

THROUGH THE PASS

"Home, bear me home at last," he said,
"And lay me where my dead are lying;
But not while skies are overspread,
And mournful wintry winds are sighing.

"Wait till the royal march of Spring
Carpets your mountain fastness over,--
Till chattering birds are on the wing,
And buzzing bees are in the clover.

"Wait till the laurel bursts its buds,
And creeping ivy flings its graces
About the lichened rocks, and floods
Of sunshine fill the shady places.

"Then, when the sky, the air, the grass,
Sweet Nature all, is glad and tender,
Then bear me through the Goshen Pass
Amid its flush of May-day splendor."